by Marc Everitt
He tried to run that thought through his mind but it just would not stick. Too easy and convenient, he thought, and Shanks just did not seem the type. He barely had the energy to open a can of beans let alone tear a man to pieces with his bare hands. Taylor had returned to the research station during the night and had not wanted to wake his sleeping friend so had just climbed straight into bed and gone to sleep. As ever when he wanted time to think he fell immediately to sleep as if switched off at the plug. Just then Eli came to and looked over at Taylor. “Oh, you’ve come back then.”
“Obviously.”
“Where have you been?”
“Just looking at things.”
“Oh, just looking at things, eh? Any particular sort of things may I ask?”
Taylor looked up and paused for the merest of moments before replying, “Sleeping monsters.”
Eli stayed silent for a couple of seconds then blinked hard. “You can’t have said what I thought you just said.”
“Please yourself,” Taylor replied nonchalantly. “Come on, let’s get busy,” and with that he was up and around. He had a lot he wanted to do that day and explaining things to Eli would just have to wait until later. He began to dress himself. “Er…., excuse me. Would you like to let me in on what’s going on here? Taylor?” called Eli in vain as Taylor left the room still doing up his coverall as he walked. Eli knew, however, that he could call all he wanted, but that he would just have to wait.
***
About twenty light years away from Taylor and Eli, a man knelt in a small shrine. His simple garments hung heavily on him, his worn face showed the signs of deep concentration and sincere prayer. On his feet he wore plain leather sandals and his long, unkempt hair was held away from his face by a simple cloth strip tied in a knot. He picked up the ancient relic in front of him and anointed himself on his tired brow. The automatic rifle he always carried lay on the table, its magazine cartridge removed as a sign of penitence to his God.
Pope always used this time of day, just after four in the afternoon ship time, to renew his vows in front of his lord and so was annoyed when he heard a knock at his cabin door. “Leave me!” he shouted at the door only to receive another knock as reply followed by a voice calling back.
“Pope, Kyle wants us all to report to Op’s. Better hurry, man.”
Pope shook his head scornfully, when would they learn he needed to be left alone in such times of worship. He rose to his feet, brushing down the robe where his knees had forced it to the floor and opened the door. Outside the door stood a smiling teenager with very short, cropped hair and a chain linking the hoop in his nose with the hoop in his ear. Pope thought to himself that every time he saw Cameron he was reminded of a circus freak. He was not a big fan of such extravagances at his age.
The young man’s eyes were smiling also and he hopped from foot to foot with all the excess energy of the young. Pope looked wearily at the teenager and suddenly felt all of the forty years that lay between them. “Cameron, son, you make this old priest feel very tired with all your hustle and bustle. Cameron followed Pope down the gantry, his strange combination of combat uniform and bright patches, badges and motifs a stark contrast to the older man’s coarsely woven robes. The attitudes of the two men were also very different. Cameron was all haste and youthful exuberance whereas Pope tried to lead a more sedate, contemplative lifestyle. Although this was often difficult with Cameron around.
Turning the corner from the main walkway into the Battle room, Cameron almost began to jog as his excitement built. He had been on the ship as long as he could remember and found the whole concept of what he and his crew-mates did very stimulating. This was not unusual as he found stimulus in most things. The more cynical of onlookers would have suggested that Cameron was only part of the crew because his cousin was captain of the ship. This would be to miss the point, however, as Cameron was a fine crew member and brought much vigour and energy to the tasks he was set.
He had never been anything other than obedient to his cousin and was always pleasant to the rest of the small crew. He felt he was well like by the others, with the possible exception of Fenchurch. Cameron had never felt that Fenchurch had liked him, or anyone for that matter. It always seemed as if Fenchurch were biding his time before killing them all. Were Cameron to wake up in the small hours of the morning to see Fenchurch withdrawing a blade from Cameron’s own spluttering heart, it would not come as much of a surprise. Cameron was not the only one to harbour distrust for Fenchurch. Pope also felt a deep misgiving whenever forced to share a room with him.
Unfortunately, that was fairly often what needed to happen. The only saving grace of being part of the team with Fenchurch was that it profited him to be on your side. Despite being a space-faring mercenary for some thirty-five years Pope had never met a more nefarious character then Fenchurch. He was small, wiry and almost feral looking. His eyes were dark and twitched constantly, his nose hooked like a bird of prey.
He always appeared to be rubbing his hands together as if trying to ward off the coldness of his heart and looking at his crew-mates as if thinking ‘when you die, I’ll have your shoes’. Rumour had it that Fenchurch had killed both of his parents, one of them when he was six years old. He looked at the human race as if from the outside and could look more alien then most people were comfortable with.
At that moment, Fenchurch lingered at the back of the Battle room like a ghoulish version of an estate agent; lurking in the background yet still irritatingly and unsettlingly present and loathsome. As Pope and Cameron came into the room Fenchurch twitched violently and turned away from them. Their captain, who looked up from his star charts, also noted their arrival. “Ah cousin. Thank you for your prompt attention. Mr Pope, please sit down. That way I won’t be able to see your awful sandals,” a broad smile spread across the captain’s face showing glowing teeth in a perfectly chiselled visage. Many a young lady had lost her heart and honour to his rogue-ish appearance and charming demeanour; this double loss was inevitably followed by the liberation of their money.
Dressed in an endearing mixture of practical combat wear and stylish touches of personality, it was obvious his young cousin modelled himself on Kyle. Captain of the ship ‘Cavalry’ for the past decade, there were times when he missed the stability of a colonial homestead. These times were usually around mid-afternoon on a Sunday, however, when it has been scientifically proven that no one is happy with their life. The rest of the time he loved the freedom his life offered him, the opportunity it presented him. He loved his ship with a passion only surpassed by his affection for his old-fashioned baseball cap he never went anywhere without.
“Good, we’re all here,” he beamed enigmatically to his three crew members, “We have a new target and this time they should be a simple pick up job.”
“What’s the cargo?” mused Pope and the ship’s viewscreen flashed into life and showed a bleak, uninteresting looking planet and the best route to it. The ‘Cavalry’ was a ship that not only looked good and moved well, it was also equipped with a limited amount of artificial intelligence and so could supply information on request. It was probably about as intelligent as most people but was no super-computer. It could, for example, work out the square root of 243590, but couldn’t programme the on-board video recorder for a week in advance.
“More to the point, what’s the pay?” muttered Fenchurch more to himself than anyone else. Kyle answered both questions by reading aloud from a message chip he had received an hour earlier. “Twenty thousand credits each for the successful removal of artefacts from the temple of the worshippers of T’suk on Alpha Prime. Cash on delivery.” As his words sunk in there were startled looks from the crew; this was a hugely well paid job. “Who the hell are the worshippers of T’suk?” asked Cameron with his usual energy blunted somewhat with confusion.
“Damned if I know,” replied Kyle, “but for 20,000 each, I don’t really care either.”
“Any security we should know about in the locality?” fro
wned Pope, leaning back in his chair.
“Well, Alpha Prime itself has a few local defence crews but nothing we can’t handle. Local system is pretty desolate, there’s a small research station about half a light year away.”
“Military research?” queried Cameron nervously.
“Nah, just scientists studying rocks or something,” finished Kyle, “no problem for us.”
“So what do we do when we get to Alpha Prime?” asked Pope redundantly, he already knew the answer.
“We do what we do best, we go in, we steal and we leave,” Kyle replied easily.
“And we kill,” hissed Fenchurch quietly.
“If we have to, but not otherwise. You know my rules,” barked Kyle sharply.
The look that Fenchurch shot at his ship’s captain was one that could freeze the blood of most men. Kyle, however, had been in the company of this sociopath for many years and merely found his attitude irritating. It was not that he did not know that Fenchurch would cut his throat given half a chance, merely that his naturally unflappable character had dissolved the feeling of mortal apprehension over the months and years. The crew began to depart the Battle Room and prepare themselves for the work to come. The ‘Cavalry’ sped onwards towards Alpha Prime, and a small monastery that surely had no clue what was about to happen to it.
***
Maystone tried pressing the button again. Still his communicator would not function, it just buzzed and fizzed and started to glow. That could not be a good sign, thought the burly security operative, maybe it would help if I shook it. Picking the small metallic unit up in his hairy hands, Maystone proceeded to shake the device violently for a considerable period of time until deciding that throwing the offending object to the floor would probably be the best solution.
The large, slightly stupid man had pitched his camp a few hundred yards from the perimeter of the research station under the natural cover of a small bluff in the landscape that, although very small, represented a vast improvement over the uniformly flat terrain. Maystone had seen very little activity in the courtyard beyond the perimeter fence since he had arrived on Graves’ World; occasionally seeing a scientist walking in the yard or checking the weather reading.
All of these occasions had been duly recorded and very dull. He was a man of action, or so he liked to think of himself, and wanted to be in the thick of things. He did not want to be sat watching some nerdy science types because someone thought that one of them was a bit less nerdy and a bit more likely to do something than the others. Pointless, he thought to himself as he grimly looked at the now quite broken communication unit, which lay inert and lifeless on the ground.
He had never understood the fascination with research and discovery that ‘scientific types’ got so excited about. He had fallen asleep on several occasions in his science lessons and liked to think of that as a point in his favour. In his opinion when he died and went up for the big reckoning and his life was judged, the heavenly host was not likely to mark him down through lack of science knowledge. If he had been paying a little more attention in some of his basic biology classes when he was younger and had learnt what animal tracks looked like then maybe he would have realised how close that day of reckoning was.
***
The creature’s primitive brain slowly switched into what, for it at least, represented a focused state. Many strange sounds and smells had bombarded its underground hiding place, all constantly reminded the creature that it was a long way from home. It uncurled a talon, then another and then the remaining digits, clenching and releasing to stretch the powerful sinews. It had not had any food brought to it that day and could not remember a time when it hadn’t been hungry. The strange noises and smells continued to irritate the creature and, as they neared, began to smell more and more like food. It stretched its powerful frame out as far as it could within the confines of its lair and entered a frame of mind exclusively devoted to hunting.
***
Maystone walked from his camp and circled the main perimeter fence, careful not to get close enough to arouse suspicion from any person who may be looking out as far as the barrier. ‘No’, he thought, ‘I should be out of sight at this range unless someone in there had a pair of military issue super strength computer enhanced digi-tech binoculars.’
As he put away his military issue super strength computer enhanced digi-tech binoculars, Taylor muttered, “Now who might you be, my friend?”
Now some way from his base camp Maystone felt he had stretched his legs enough and decided to head back. He had no way of knowing that he would never make it, or be seen again.
The creature stalked its prey, remaining unseen as the target turned. Its light colouring blended well into the sandy background, so well that only the keenest of eyes would have spotted it.
‘Was that something else out there?’ thought Taylor as he looked out of the window towards the area he had seen the mysterious man in. Pulling out his binoculars again he looked more closely. There was the man he had seen a moment ago and a couple of hundred metres to the man’s left, as Taylor looked he could see a break in the texture of the landscape. The way in which the sun reflected off of that point was not the same as the surrounding area. As he looked on at the very same area with growing dread, it seemed to rise up and take the form of a creature.
Recognising it immediately as the alien creature that had attacked him previously and seeing the creature stalk swiftly towards the back of the slowly moving man Taylor knew he had to try to help. Part of him knew the creature would be upon the man before he even reached the courtyard, but he had to try anyway. Opening the door to the corridor, he ran as fast as he could for the nearest exit with Eli looking confused in his wake. Even if Taylor had the time to explain that an unknown man was about to be attacked and eaten by a Rodlean Swamp Creature, it simply wouldn’t have occurred to him.
The creature was very close to its prey now, its hunger drove it onwards. It increased its speed, almost gliding over the terrain. As it came to within ten metres of the prey, the man turned as if sensing the danger he was in. Maystone had just less than three seconds for the colour to drain from his face and his bladder to release before the creature was upon him. His fear kept him from putting up too much of a fight and the last thing he saw was his own arm lying on the ground bleeding profusely and twitching slightly. Then all was black.
Taylor reached the outside doorway at the end of the corridor, entered his security code and threw the titanium door open. He leapt out into the courtyard. His heart hammered as he ran as fast as he could towards the perimeter fence. He was horribly certain that he would find he was too late, but how could he not try? It was not a consideration in his mind that he may be putting himself in danger with his actions. When he reached the fence there was nothing to be seen of either of the two figures he had seen from inside the station.
However, the blood on the ground was testament to what he had seen. There was no body, whatever the creature hadn’t eaten it had obviously taken away to store for a later meal. Considering that the creature had just had or was now having a meal, that thought sent a shiver down his spine in spite of himself, Taylor felt safe to leave the compound and investigate the grisly scene.
Quickly through the nearest gateway, Taylor took only two minutes to reach the blood soaked area. Constantly looking around him as he walked he could see no sign of either the creature or its victim. The creature must have returned to the small lair he had seen it in before. Now he was away from the perimeter fence the angle at which he viewed the area had shifted 90 degrees and he began to see a structure that he had not been able to see from the station. A clearly constructed shelter, almost impossible to see from the station, was apparent to him about twenty metres to his left. Walking nearer he realised that it was a company issue undercover surveillance camp, obviously the former home of the recently deceased mystery man. He felt certain a look inside would give him both the identity of the man and a clue as to who he was watchi
ng and why.
Opening the light fibre glass doorway, he entered the room. Scattered all over the floor was the remnants of an electronic device of some sort. Here, a battery cell, there a circuit board. By the look of it, it seemed to be a communicator. A further inspection of the room led to the discovery of some identification. This was in the form of a Company security officer’s identification badge inscribed with the owner’s name.
“Officer Maystone,” muttered Taylor to himself, “I wonder why you were here?” The amount of opened and empty food packs in the room showed Taylor that the man had been here for some time and the amount of sealed packs led him to believe the man wasn’t planning on leaving soon. Taylor could see no evidence as to why the man had been there. He could think of no reason other than the obvious. If the Company wanted to send someone to investigate Hanley’s death then why order him to stay outside and just watch? There was surely not much he could investigate from out there.
The realisation hit Taylor that moment. He was here to do the investigation and this poor fellow had been sent here to keep an eye on him. ‘Well, he didn’t do a very good job of that’, thought Taylor. It was the only explanation that made sense of why he stayed outside of the fence, out of sight. As had happened before, Taylor well knew he was being used by the Company to solve a mystery, but this was the only time he had been sent a baby-sitter. Why would the Company executives be so concerned about him being on the planet? Were they concerned for his safety? He thought that was unlikely. Besides which it was unlikely that the Company knew about the rogue creature roaming around outside the perimeter fence.
There was obviously something about Graves’ World that they knew, or suspected, and they didn’t want him poking his nose into it. He was sent, he reasoned, under the pretence of being a replacement engineer, to solve the murder of Jeff Hanley. They could turn a blind eye to his murder mystery antics and get the whole mess sorted out nice and quietly. This was not the first time he had been conveniently sent to such an area at such a time. Only this time they had another interest in the planet, one he was not supposed to find out.
