by Steve Rzasa
What happened to “Foss”? He wasn’t going all mushy on me, was he? I stomped up the last dozen feet, grabbing onto a tree limb when my shoes slipped on a loose patch of dirt. “You’d better not have—”
I shut up.
Hovering over the wide-open basin in front of us, nestled between pine-covered hills and craggy, snow-covered peaks, was an alien ship. One of those big triangular suckers. Twice as big as a 747, remember? Only a couple hundred yards off.
Fisk stood right below it, with a qwaddo. “Zok,” Nil said in a snarling, vicious spit.
Didn’t know what it meant, but I nodded in agreement.
This qwaddo ship was identical to the ones I’d seen in Denver and over Buffalo, right down to the running lights. The only difference was a pair of white stripes bisected with reflective gold along the underbelly. Search me what it meant.
There was a long black ramp extending from the underside of the ship. Fisk and the qwaddo were talking close to the bottom, but we were too far off to make out words. Even if the spaceship hadn’t been putting out that hum, it still would have been impossible.
Nil got the lights flashing on his belt scanner thing. “The Ghiqasu to whom Fisk is speaking is Oveqavar and is named Gukoeso Nasp Taf Lel. He is the Observer Premier for this continent.”
“He is?” I squinted. Come to think of it, he looked familiar—and then the recognition smacked me between the eyes. Back at the library, someone using a computer had up that news feed about the chief Observer flying to California. It was this guy’s picture. “Big shot, then.”
“Indeed. His scent reeks of fear. Anxiety.” Nil ground his teeth together. Sounded like metal scraping concrete. “If he is involved with the theft, he will have reason to fear.”
“No kidding. Something tells me your law doesn’t go easier on its own kind for stealing sculptures.” I needed to be closer and to hear. Got to record anything they say, especially of the incriminating variety. Problem was, my tablet was back in the car with a dry battery. But I dug out my phone and pulled up a custom app I’d installed. Now I just needed a signal.
“What are you doing, Foss? Can your device record images from this distance?”
“Yep.” I snapped a few pics, but they were far off. Ah. Got some bars, finally. Only two, but it was enough. I punched the app and flashed Nil a grin. “Had something better in mind for a closer peek.”
A couple seconds later my drone came softly buzzing over the treetops, then dipped low to the ground so it could skim behind rock outcroppings to our right. It bobbed and weaved its way along, putting out very little sound—because seriously, what good is a surveillance drone if it’s noisy?
The controls on my phone were way too small for my oaf fingers, but I made do. It reminded me why I preferred using the tablet as the remote. Battery was below 10 percent capacity. Close enough. Once it got within a hundred yards, from my position hunkered down behind a rock, I switched on the mic.
Fisk: “That wasn’t the deal. I’ve got the statue and you’re supposed to extract it ASAP so I can get my reward.”
Observer Nasp: “Regrettably the situation is becoming unstable. We have doubts about your ability to keep certain details private.”
Fisk: “That’s why I wanted the memory alteration! That was part of the payment! I—” His voice hiccupped, went into Borg multi-tone, “We have our subject under control. Arrange for the extraction of the Sozh Uqasod as per the agreement.”
Nasp: “This agreement, as you keep calling it, carries a foul smell that worsens every rotation of this fetid planet. There is no guarantee that Retrieval and Justice’s Hounder assigned to this case will be permanently put off Mr. Fisk’s human stench.”
Fisk: “That is not our concern. We have complex operations in place to maintain control of this human. You need only have the Sozh Uqasod removed and our extraction prepared or the consequences you face will be far more severe than anything your Ghiqasu masters can levy. Do you comprehend?”
Nasp: (Bowed his head.) “I do. Yes. Forgive my doubts.”
More than that I missed because right then, my drone blew up.
A half-sphere six feet across extruded from the underside of the qwaddo ship, covered in the same blue and gray-green plating as the hull. It had a shimmering, swirling pattern of white light on it. Mesmerizing. Right up until it pivoted and a flash of blue-white light streaked out.
The bolt or whatever it was hit the drone. Exploded was too strong a word. The drone vaporized, showering the rocks in sparks and leaving behind two things: a plume of smoke and a black charred patch.
“Um, they may know we’re here,” I said.
Nil didn’t answer. Instead he spun around, two strikers drawn from his belt. He passed one to me and drew a third. I took it, deciding that it would be stupid to argue when the paranoid alien who can smell things from miles away gives you a weapon. “It is worse than that,” he grumbled. “They are right here. Forty feet away.”
I aimed my striker in the general direction of his but didn’t have to wait long for an answer to my next question. Two qwaddos dropped down out of a tree forty feet behind us and to the right. One instant, vague outlines like a heat mirage rippled down the side of a big ponderosa pine. The next, two big Ghiqasu stood at its base, aiming weapons at us that looked like Nil’s strikers except ten times as big and with an extra pair of grips along the barrel.
These Ghiqasu were unlike any I’d met so far—and I thought that was an extensive list. Big as Nil, but their arms were much more thickly muscled. They wore what looked like bulky fatigues that covered their entire bodies, hands included, except they were a mottled gray-brown-green mix that seemed to shift with every step they took. Both had ochre skin that I could barely see in the gaps of their face masks. Those were a cross between the familiar Earth military helmets and some kind of Star Wars stormtrooper breathing mask over their snouts. Each one rippled with armor sheathing just like their faces underneath.
“Depower your weapons.” The one in front had two black circles on a tan block centered on his collar. His buddy only had one. Guess that made him subordinate. “We are authorized to use lethal force.”
Both Nil’s weapons fell silent. He set them on the ground slowly, and with his lower left arm reached out for mine. I handed it over, without taking my stare off these soldier qwaddos.
The subordinate kept his weapon trained on us and moved forward just like human soldiers—walking low, reaching down with his left hands to pick up all three guns.
The leader flicked the end of his gun. Meaning was plain enough—get out of the trees. So we did.
They escorted us at striker-point into the open. I couldn’t have felt more vulnerable if I was standing there buck naked. I mean, soldiers notwithstanding, the turret on the underside of the qwaddo ship had rotated around and looked an awful lot like it was centered on us.
I whispered to Nil, “Let me guess: these are your guys’ version of Special Forces.”
He answered with a slight nod. “Their race is Thibaqan. They provide the bulk of our soldiers—‘Groundpounders’ as Jordan Santoro and Tyler Fisk referred to them. Trained from birth in the martial arts and weapons. Fearless.”
“Wonderful.” I glanced over my shoulder and waved cheerily. The subordinate soldier growled in a way that made Nil’s grumbling about as scary as that of a hamster. Then I blinked. His outfit was mottled green interspersed with grays and browns, a bright mixture that exactly matched the ground on which we walked. So—color-adaptive camouflage? “Who invited them to Earth? You guys aren’t supposed to have military forces present on our planet, from what I read.”
“That is correct,” Nil said. “It is a question I must have answered as well.”
It occurred to me right then that I could die. Not theoretically at some point in the future. I’m talking imminent destruction. Blasted to oblivion by a UFO or gut shot by alien commandos. Either possibility sucked. It was enough to give a guy serious doubts.
A lot of things made me fight against giving up: Ally, Kyle, Isaac, friends and family I hadn’t spoken with in years—yes, even Nil. Somewhere deep inside there was an answer that slowed my heart from insane racing to brisk jogging, words trailing through my head like a whisper I’d just missed.
I gave them eternal life, and they shall never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.
Of all the things to remember. Funny thing is, my back straightened up and my step got bolder. I knew I’d be okay, even if my body got reduced to atomic particles. It was more reassuring at that moment than it had ever been when I was sitting in a pew.
What else could I do? I prayed. Begged forgiveness. Cajoled for another chance to get it all right. Quickly and quietly. And threw in the sign of the cross, something I hadn’t done since I’d learned the catechism as a kid.
Nasp put on his best alien frown as we reached him. “What was that? Is that the human version of an insult?”
I shook my head. “You boys need to do a better job of actually observing Earth culture if you don’t got a clue what that is. Only about a billion of us do it regularly as eating.”
The qwaddo punched me. My bad. Still used to assessing threats only in human form, so I was watching his upper arms. It was the lower right that hit me in the gut, enough of a blow to double me over. But I didn’t go to my knees. Instead I coughed it off.
Fisk waved his hand in that imperious fashion you’d see the Queen of England greeting her subjects. The message was clear enough: Back away, flunky. And Nasp bowed, following Fisk’s direction perfectly.
Guess that meant Fisk was still in Jinn possession.
“You have proved most bothersome,” the multi-voiced Fisk said. “If we had only known the spirited nature of you humans in greater detail, we would have secured the Sozh Uqasod far sooner than this and not had to take such drastic measures.”
“You have betrayed the oath of your people,” Nil growled. “You are not worthy of the reverence of the Ghiqasu.”
“You will remember your place and bow before your masters,” Jinn-Fisk snapped.
“I bow only to Qas and the One whom He sent to Earth to die for the failings of all beings across the galaxy.”
The Ghiqasu soldiers rumbled ominously behind us. They both struck Nil with the stocks of their supersized strikers.
“Hey, you fellas back off!” I got in a good arm lock and a couple of blows to the kidney—well, okay, it would have been the kidney of a man but I had no idea what organ it was on a qwaddo—before the subordinate soldier shrugged me off. He hit me across the chest with the muzzle of his striker. It was sharp enough pain to put me out of breath.
“Enough!” Jinn-Fisk’s voice echoed off the rocks. The soldiers froze, pulling back from more blows.
“Physical violence,” Jinn-Fisk said. Same tone of voice my mom used when I’d get in fights. “The predictable path of every sentient biped. Subtlety is lost on such as you.”
“Yeah, right.” Meant it as a taunt, but it was more like an old man’s gasp. “Subtle like parking your ship in the mountains and shooting drones.”
“Mock us all you want, but we have what we’ve come for.” Jinn-Fisk pointed to Nasp. “We cannot have witnesses. You will eliminate them.”
Nasp recoiled. “Surely not. Reverently, I suggest we tamper with their memories. It is forbidden to kill a member of a protectorate species.”
Wait, so I wasn’t going to die? Awesome. I got back to my feet and hazarded a look in Nil’s direction. He stayed down. Whether he was seriously hurt or doing a fantastic job faking, I couldn’t tell. I really wanted him to make a call on his ear phone thing, but no luck or orange light.
That white light on his belt was still flashing, though.
“It is also forbidden to steal the very item we have stolen,” Jinn-Fisk said. “The Nivax will not quibble over the breaking of our laws when it comes time for delivery.”
“You would turn the Sozh Uqasod over to our enemies?” Nil’s question came as a near whisper. It was about as surprised as I’d heard him.
“No one gave you permission to speak,” Nasp said. “Take these two aboard. We will decide what to do with them once we’ve reached orbit. Perhaps the Nivax would care to examine a live human specimen.”
Did I sign up for alien abduction and/or probing? Um, no.
There was only one way I could see out of this. “Fisk. You can’t let these guys do this. What about Jordan? He was your friend, your fellow soldier.”
Jinn-Fisk hesitated. The look he aimed my way made me glad those guards were instructed to not kill. “We know what you are doing. Tyler Fisk is under our thrall.”
“Shut up, I wasn’t talking to you,” I snapped. “Fisk, push them out or block them or whatever you got to do. Are you going to let little microbe aliens boss you around? They made you a deal to steal the Sozh and deliver it to them and changed the rules of the game every step of the way.”
Jinn-Fisk took a step toward the ramp but staggered. “We—maintain control—do not presume . . .”
I wasn’t about to let those tiny freaks get the last word in. “They didn’t even kill Jordan on their own. They made you do it! Like they made you do all their dirty work. And for what? For no reward, nothing they promised. They made you shoot your best friend and comrade.”
Fisk retched. Thought for a second I was going to have his puke on my shoes. But he just got pale, backed away from the ramp. “They—they’re the ones who killed Jordan. Hijacked my body, put a striker in my hand.”
Nasp had edged away from our little gathering toward the ramp. Neither of the soldiers made any move, but their weapons shifted back and forth from Fisk to me and Nil. Lights started flicking on the lower edge of their helmets, the same shade of orange as Nil’s earlobe communications device. New orders coming through, I figured. But I ignored them and homed in on Fisk.
“Keep them out of your head. We can help you, Tyler. We can get the Sozh Uqasod out of your system and end this.”
He gasped and clutched at the sides of his head. “Stop! Stop it! You killed Jordan! Get out!”
There was a lot more shouting and swearing from him at that point, but I won’t bother with those details because Nil—who’d been still on the ground from the soldiers’ combined beatdown—reached up with his top arms and broke the lower left arm of the qwaddo leader.
The subordinate aimed his gun at Nil but I was already moving. I put my shoulder into his ribs, between the right-side arms. Slammed into something really hard—body armor under the fatigues? Homegrown qwaddo rib cage? No idea. But it was enough of an impact to knock the soldier over. We both went down in a tangle of arms and legs. And I do mean tangle. His big gun bounced end over end through the grass.
Somewhere in the background Nasp was shouting at Fisk, a very authoritative-sounding command. But he cut off mid-sentence with a choking sound. I dodged the swing of a qwaddo fist and rolled over. Fisk had Nasp by the throat, both of his hands throttling him while Nasp used all four of his to try to pry Fisk’s grip off.
The subordinate and I punched, kicked, and smacked at each other until I finally scrambled free of him. My leg throbbed, my face ached, and there were lots of places on my body that were going to have big purple bruises the next day, guaranteed. We faced each other, arms akimbo, circling slowly. No idea where Nil’s three strikers were. All I knew was the soldier’s big gun was twelve feet to my right. That guy had military training, but this was my home gravity.
Not sure if that could have made up the difference.
He took a flying leap at me, like when Nil had pounced onto the truck while we were flying down the interstate, except this leap was only head height and more of a straight forward pounce. I dodged aside, letting him fly by. I skidded on my arms across the grass and dirt, scraping skin off my elbows. There was the gun. I scooped it up.
Two hands grabbed me roughly by the back of the shirt and pulled so hard I was gagged by my collar. Another pair o
f hands punched me in the kidneys—both sides simultaneously. I went down, flopping against the ground. I puked up half my lunch, nauseated by the pain. Where was the stupid trigger on that gun? Couldn’t find it. Couldn’t focus.
Yikes, he was strong. Sort of forgot the whole bit of them having greater gravity on their planet.
The soldier spun me around. I planted a kick into his midsection, which worked really well since all four arms were busy in motion. He staggered away, reaching to both sides of his head. Dizzy? Nil said Earth’s oxygen or lack thereof could do that.
I still had the gun, but everything was twirling around me like a leaf in a cyclone.
Who needed the trigger?
I reversed the gun and swung the stock around. It cracked across the soldier’s snout. He flipped aside, landing on his left arms, facing away from me.
“That’s how we do it on Earth,” I gasped, sagging to the ground.
Wind suddenly blasted all around me. The hum of the qwaddo ship’s engines increased, and the ground started shaking.
“Nil!” It sounded more like a frog’s croak than a battle cry. But I found him. He stood over the limp body of the lead soldier, holding his gun. “Hey, you did it!”
Nil nodded. Suddenly he swayed to the right, eyes going unfocused. I shot out an arm to grab him, steady him, and wound up grabbing his gun instead. Had the same effect, though. He squinted and breathed through his nose. “Thank you.”
“No prob.”
“This white indentation on the hand guard is the weapon’s trigger, Caz, in the event you were confused.”
When I laughed, it hurt.
Fisk shouted in pain. He was on his hands and knees at the bottom of the spaceship’s ramp. Nasp stood over him, holding a gold and silver curved plate thing in his left hands. It was streaked with black and bathing Fisk’s shoulders in green light. Way weirder were the three dozen black tendrils stabbing through Fisk’s shirt, leaving little pinpricks of blood.
We rushed to him but it was too late. Nasp withdrew the device and bolted up the ramp, which was already closing. Nil launched himself at the edge. His body smacked against the end of the ramp, a meaty thud, and he grabbed on with both his lower hands. The upper ones aimed the big striker inside. The interior flashed blue-green with a couple of discharges.
