Koban

by Stephen W Bennett

  “They won’t help us with our wounded, Captain.” Pleaded a middle-aged man, cradling the back of the woman who had broken her kneecap in the first minutes of the evacuation. Her leg was stretched out along the attached bench of the table, a smart bandage wrapped around her injured knee.

  An overweight man asked, as Mirikami passed, “What are we going to eat? They say they can’t share their rations with so many new mouths.”

  “I asked for a gun, I wanted to go back to help. They wouldn’t let me have one.” Complained a woman.

  Mirikami only nodded an acknowledgement to each as he passed them, holding his palm out, indicating they needed to be patient.

  When he reached the center, he discovered Maggi, Aldry, Ana Cahill, Zulma Krat, Rafe Campbell, and Motorman Andrew Johnson clustered at a four tables pushed together.

  The grouping was significant because these people had volunteered to be members of the Immunity Committee for the Flight of Fancy’s complement. There had been no open discussion with the Flight of Fancy people yet; there couldn’t be until Telour was placed in charge of them. It wasn’t known yet how many would be on the final committee, but the entire ship’s complement would be made part of the decision.

  As originally outlined, the group could not have any immunity offered by Telour for themselves, but would select those that did receive combat immunity from testing. No one knew how the previous captives would react to this. The thinking was to extend the immunity to people with knowledge or skill the Fancy could use in building weapons or devising tactics.

  From the angry looking armed people standing around the tables, it seemed likely that some sort of discussion had taken place that they didn’t like. Mirikami sincerely hoped the subject of immunity or cooperating with Telour had not been leaked. He had emphasized that until they knew where they stood with respect to organizing that effort, that it be kept secret from everyone.

  Motioning for the Captain to climb up and join her, Maggi whispered in his ear as she pretended to lean over to give him a hand up. “They think so many of got here alive because we collaborated with the enemy.” That explained the looks he was receiving from them.

  Maggi spoke out in her normal commanding manner to the crowd around them, a voice so at odds with her small figure and grandmotherly appearance.

  “Gentle Ladies and Gentle Men, this is Captain Mirikami of the Flight of Fancy. The man that I told you saved us from slaughter on first contact with the Krall, and who negotiated our receiving Ra Ka Endo while in transit to here. That is why we have the same throat tattoos you bear, despite our new arrival.”

  Wondering if that was the only subject that had the others upset, Mirikami bowed formally in each of four directions. As he looked around the room, he saw there were at least two thousand new faces looking back at him now, and no longer avoiding his gaze. Then he saw others on the balconies above the perimeter of the large room. It seemed possible that nearly all of the surviving captives were watching him.

  A man somewhere in the crowd shouted out “Is that true? You kept the Krall from slaughtering any of your people? What did you get in trade for that?”

  The accusing voice remained anonymous, hidden in the mass of faces when Mirikami looked that way.

  “We lost fifty six people in the first hour, and that was certainly a slaughter, so no, we did not save everyone. We had no idea who was coming after us, or what would happen to us. Until we received a recorded warning message. That warning deserves more credit for saving lives than anything my crew or I did. A human was responsible for the message, and it gave us vital information just in time for us to avoid the mistakes that surely would have caused many more deaths. You probably know who that person was.” His eyes scanned around the room, waiting for a response. None came.

  “A man who identified himself as Mavray Doushan told us what we were about to face, and what we needed to do to improve our chances of survival. All I did was tell my people to follow his advice. Midway orbital station, our intended destination, had not heeded that same advice, and only eleven people survived its total destruction the day before we arrived in the system. I think we owe many lives to his warning. I for one would like to thank him.” Some of the faces looked surprised, uncertain now.

  “That collaborator is dead!” Another anonymous man’s voice shouted out.

  “His message told us that some of his fellow captives called him a traitor,” conceded Mirikami. “Perhaps that might be true, and I don’t know everything he may have done to offend or harm any of you here. Nevertheless, the people from our ship, the Flight of Fancy, can state without question that his explicit warning led to decisions by us that spared many of our lives. He even told us about the tattoo I see that we all bear.” He had noted that everyone had a blank oval like his own.

  “The marking was first offered by the Krall to only a few members of my crew, so they would be free to prepare for a Jump to come here,” he told them. “But because of the slight protection Doushan told us it could provide, I asked it for every single one of my passengers and crew.

  “It wasn’t exactly free, it came with strings attached.” He looked around the room, seeing distrust on many faces.

  “It required that I promise good behavior on behalf of every soul on the Flight of Fancy, on pain of death for me and one eighth of every person on my ship if even one person violated that promise.” He again scanned the room, now hanging on his words.

  “As you can see, I clearly arrived here alive, as did those one hundred random people the Krall would have killed. That apparently means all of us on the ship must have ‘collaborated’ to stay alive.” Now he pointed a finger, right arm extended, in a sweeping arc around the room.

  “Just as every last one of you here with markings like ours also collaborated! It was a means to improve your chance of survival, not a sign of cooperation with what the damned Krall have planned for the Human race and us. I for one plan to fight back!”

  “Hear, hear!” was shouted out by many of the Fancy’s people, followed by swelling applause and cheers from members of the new arrivals. It lasted for almost a minute until an obviously embarrassed Mirikami waved them down.

  As it quieted, Dillon shouted out, “A lot of us owe our lives to Captain Mirikami. His leadership has helped protect us at every opportunity. Where are your leaders? Have they done as much for you?”

  A voice from the top balcony shouted out, “They all died. Like your Captain will die if he tries to lead this ungrateful rabble.”

  There was a murmur from the long time captives as everyone turned to look for the speaker. Mirikami caught a name repeated several times. “Colonel Grease,” it sounded like they were saying.

  “And who might you be, Gentle Sir?” Mirikami called back to a man standing in isolation on the third tier balcony.

  “I’m who those cowards are muttering about Captain. I’m Colonel Thaddeus Greeves, formerly head of a Diplomatic Security detail from Poldark. I was captured with Mr. Doushan on the same diplomatic courier. I’m now the sole survivor of that group. We need to talk.”

  26. Colonel Grease

  There were eight sets of large elevators set equal distance around the auditorium as they had decided to call the large assembly and dining area. Dillon let the way, having used an elevator earlier. He stuck a fingertip into an unmarked slot next to a wide closed door, and they waited a moment as movement could be heard.

  Only Maggi and Dillon were selected by Mirikami to go with him. It didn’t seem advisable to show distrust by bringing along many other people. They were invited by Greeves to meet on the third level. The single elevator door opened with startling speed, rising straight up to make a nine-foot high opening, and twice that wide.

  On a right side panel were the controls. The numbering system was probably in Krall script, but Dillon said it worked much like a human system. Small slots with some script next to each ran vertically in two parallel columns. There were thirty-two such script-slot pairs. The s
lots were intended for a talon tip, but he said also activated when a human fingertip was inserted.

  Dillon, warning them to stand clear of the door, stuck a fingertip into the third from the bottom left slot, triggering the two-piece door to slide down swiftly. Then the elevator shot upwards so quickly that Maggi nearly slipped to the floor. With a stomach lifting stop, the door swished opened almost immediately on the third level.

  Shooting a dagger eyed look at Dillon, Maggi let go of his arm, which she had reflexively clutched to save herself from a dangerous fall to her backside. She stepped out of the twenty foot wide elevator and looked back at him with one eyebrow raised, clearly assessing him.

  Stammering, Dillon said, “Uh…, I’m.., I’m sorry Maggi, and uh…Tet. I forgot to warn you before I inserted my finger. It goes fast,” he ended lamely.

  “Humph,” was Maggi’s only reply. From that simple sound, Dillon knew with certainty from personal experience that some sort of embarrassing verbal dart laid in his future for that little omission.

  Mirikami had been no better prepared, but his knees happened to be straight when it shot up, so he was spared the indignity of having to grab onto anything to stay standing, or perhaps even falling painfully on his butt. All he said in response to Dillon’s apology was, “Typical Krall speed and efficiency. No wonder they didn’t like our lifts.”

  Colonel Greeves was waiting for them. He was as tall as Dillon was, but stockier. He had short black-to-graying hair, which in modern society was rare, since the human genes that had lengthened life and vitality had eliminated most gray hair. It didn’t often appear until very late in life after about a hundred thirty or forty. Yet Greeves looked in good health, and extremely vital. Sun tanned with rugged features, he wasn’t classically handsome like Dillon, but probably turned the heads of many a gene shopping Lady.

  He was also armed, very heavily armed. There were a pair of Krall made pistols in holsters slung low at his hips, two human made projectile pistols under his arms in holsters, and what looked like a Jazzer clipped to an ammo belt across his chest that also held multiple ammo clips. He had a short rifle slung over his back, which looked like a modified Krall weapon. In addition, a machete handle protruded from a pouch behind his left shoulder. There was a large sheathed hunting knife strapped to the outside his lower right leg.

  Mirikami shook hands and introduced his two companions. “Colonel, I would like to present the gracious Lady, Doctor Margret Fisher, and Doctor Dillon Martin.”

  Greeves, rather than following the social niceties of a hand kiss with a Lady, simply offered his hand to Maggi to be shaken. It was a courteous and firm shake with Mirikami, gentle with Maggi, and bone crushing with Dillon.

  Dillon was surprised, after seeing the other two perfunctory handshakes, but responded in kind. He didn’t have Greeves’ Koban adapted grip, but was satisfied to see a return look of surprise.

  “Doctors’ you say.” He had a rich resonate voice, with a provincial accent that sounded similar to what they had heard in Doushan’s recording. Poldark was a New Colony, but considered more backwoods than most New Colony worlds, having been settled just a decade before the Collapse.

  “I heard that the majority of you new arrivals claimed to be biologists. My dear Lady you might fit that description, but Mr. Dillon here does not. It’s a strange collection of people for the Krall to find at the outskirts of civilization.” He wasn’t actually saying he didn’t believe them, but his skepticism was apparent.

  Maggi took the lead, “There are a lot of Doctors in our group, Colonel, and all of them really are in the biological sciences. The Flight of Fancy was chartered by a consortium of Universities to transport our staff to an orbital research station named Midwife.

  “The station had the misfortune to be orbiting a world called Newborn, well beyond the Rim worlds. We were planning to do research on the rare emerging primitive life there. The Krall had already stumbled on our station before we did our White Out. I’m sure you can piece together what they did when they detected our emergence and radio calls.”

  Mollified for the moment, he replied, “Yes, that particular sequence of events has been repeated at least a hundred times.”

  “A hundred?” questioned Mirikami. “I don’t think we spotted more than a dozen wrecked human ships on the tarmac as we landed.”

  “Most ships aren’t even flight worthy after capture, let alone Jump capable. If they aren’t close enough to Koban they don’t bring them anyway. They have faster Jump capability than we do, and no patience. But we can discuss this in my quarters, away from these spineless pricks.” He waved at the crowd below and the hundred or so people standing well away from them along the wide balcony.

  “Please, follow me. It isn’t very far.” He preceded them to a corridor opening and turned in to that. It was wide, a radial corridor that appeared to lead all the way to the edge of the dome. There was light coming in windows at the end.

  The hallway was well lit by continuous glow strips along the ceiling. They passed several other wide cross-corridors that circled the dome. There were closed doorways spaced periodically along all the corridors they saw, with some sort of script on the doors, and at intersections.

  As they walked Greeves didn’t speak, and only occasionally glanced back to see if they were keeping up with his moderate pace. Mirikami suspected he was taking it slow for people not yet adapted to Koban’s gravity.

  Maggi tapped his arm, and Mirikami looked over at her. She didn’t speak, but gestured at her tattoo, and pointed at Greeves just ahead, then at her tattoo again. Dillon also saw what she did, but both men shrugged and shook their heads to indicate they didn’t get her message. She made a small wave as if to say it wasn’t important right now.

  When they reached the end of the long hall, they could see there were large windows, almost floor to ceiling. They allowed them to see the Flight of Fancy in the afternoon sun light, off to their left, with people still coming across. The windows apparently went all the way around the dome, forming the outside wall of each level.

  Greeves turned left again at the end of the radial hall, and taking a few steps said, “This is it.”

  He stopped at a closed door with a small panel inset next to it. Shielding the panel with his body, he entered a series of taps or presses. There was an audible click, and Greeves pushed the door inwards.

  “Welcome to my personal fortress,” and he waved them to enter.

  As they walked in, Mirikami noted that it was furnished sparsely with a mixture of salvaged ship chairs and couches, and a bunk. These were not Smart furniture, as used on commercial ships like the Flight of Fancy, which had to consider the comfort of its paying passengers on long Jumps. These were items probably taken from some of the older and smaller wrecks outside. A number of things were homemade, and clearly made from local trees and plants.

  There was a strikingly attractive wooden table with blue and yellow streaked wood, four matching chairs, and a few baskets made of woven teal fibers. However, the size of his quarters was the greatest surprise. It was perhaps one hundred feet long by fifty wide and a fifteen-foot ceiling with glow strips. The long walls followed the gentle curve of the outside corridor. A second door to the outer corridor door was at the far end, and two closed doors were on the opposite wall. The furniture was all clustered near the door they had entered, making the large room look nearly empty.

  As Mirikami passed Greeves, he glanced at his V-neck shirt. The latter was a human fashion concession to ensure the Krall could see everyone’s tattoo. The Colonel’s tattoo had a small splash of color. One blue and one red, at the top of the oval. It was similar to the multicolored dots and blobs inside the Krall’s own tattoos.

  Greeves pulled chairs away from the table, in an obvious invitation to sit, so they did. Reaching into a basket by a table leg, he pulled out four green plastic bottles and placed them on the table. He took the fourth chair.

  The bottles turned out to be standard looking trans
parent water bottles that only looked green because of the translucent liquid inside.

  “These are better served cold, but I don’t have a refrigeration unit in here like the standard living cubicles do. But those cubicles don’t lock, and this one does. The fruit for this juice is local; it grows close to the forest on low shrubs, and has a combination flavor of sweet and tangy at the same time. I don’t know of an exact match from any world, but it is citrus like. It can be an acquired taste.”

  He unscrewed his obviously reused container, and took a deep swig to show them it was actually drinkable. His guests tried theirs with a bit more caution, with small sips. Then all three demonstrated approval by taking larger swallows.

  “That really is tangy,” agreed Dillon. “But the aftertaste is sweet. I think I’d agree it seems like it has a bit of citrus flavor. But of course, that can’t be true. Are a lot of fruits, plants, and animals digestible here? That’s highly unusual.”

  “I’m not all that familiar with what should or shouldn’t be safe to eat on different worlds, Doctor. Some of the people here were surprised, however. Like any world, there are fruits and berries here you should not to eat, as we learned the hard way by trial and error.

  “This particular plant is deadly if you aren’t careful, but not from its fruit, it has natural defenses. The leaves seem to be toxic to native animals, though we never tried them. It’s the thorns that will flat kill you if you don’t expect a plant to actively swat you.”

  Maggi said, “Swat you?”

  “Yes indeed. They have a trigger mechanism in a number of tightly coiled branches that cause them to uncoil faster than you can pull away if you pick a fruit. When you get a thorn in a hand or arm, the only thing to do is to amputate in the first minute. We haven’t saved the life of anyone when we didn’t do that. Even the Krall, who like the fruit won’t reach in and pick one.”