by B. V. Larson
He was bitter, knowing these people had no law about using pod vines, only the pods themselves. How was he supposed to have known they held the pods in special regard, like sacred objects? It was true that during the ripening and the planting seasons pod-walkers would become fanatical at any perceived danger to a young pod. But the pods he’d brought to their walls were long dead and steamed clean of pheromones. The plants would not react to them any more than they would a stone.
Bolivar led the girl away. Gersen slumped in his bonds, full of bitter thoughts. He wished he’d never entered these walls. The sweet time spent with Estelle was far from worth it.
The gloom was such that he could barely make out his surroundings. Using his feet, he reached out and tapped at his environment. He found that the crumbling sides of the pit were alarmingly close.
He tried stretching as tall as he could, and reaching out with his mouth. If he could get his teeth onto the binding fiber—but no. He could not reach. In fact, his straining efforts only managed to tighten the loops more. They cut into his wrists, and his hands grew slowly numb.
Cursing quietly in the stinking pit, he became aware of a fresh intrusion. A large face loomed like a moon over the grill. It was Kerth.
“Hello stranger,” he said, grinning more widely than before.
“Hello fool,” Gersen said.
Kerth chuckled, and the sound was ominous to Gersen.
“I’ve got something for you, stranger. You violated Estelle, and I’m going to return the favor.”
Gersen’s eyes grew wide in the darkness. He peered up at the man. He thought of cursing at him, or calling out for aid, but waited instead. Kerth’s face vanished, and everything was quiet for a few seconds.
Gersen thought of the last thing he’d seen before being attacked. “The ship,” he said aloud. “There is a ship coming, Kerth. Do your people realize that?”
Kerth laughed. “Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”
“You don’t understand. I saw it. Just go outside and look up. Study the heavens. The long streak in the sky—”
“Is that the best you can do? Do you really think we are such bumpkins, stranger? We have better tech than anyone on Faust. I saw the comet, and was not impressed.”
“It’s not a comet—” Gersen broke off however, as a trickle of fluid came down through the grate. He realized after a moment of confusion he was being splattered with warm piss.
He did curse then, being unable to stop himself. Kerth laughed, shook off a few final drops which ran over Gersen’s shoulders, and left.
Urine ran down Gersen’s lank hair over his face and arms. The liquid burned his eyes and cuts. His thoughts turned dark, and he almost flew into a rage, ripping at his bonds. But instead, he controlled himself and tried to move his hands.
Yes…his bonds were fractionally looser. He was sure of it. He looked around for more liquid. If he could get the bonds truly wet, they might loosen enough for him to slip free.
He tried spitting on them, but his mouth was dry and his aim wasn’t perfect. He tried biting his lip and spitting the blood as well. It had little effect. Soon, Faust’s short night would end and the villagers would come back to check on him. He had to escape before they did.
Using his arms, he felt the walls of the pit near his tied hands. There were rough spots. He worked to expose a sharp rock near his left wrist. It wasn’t much, but he used it to saw at his bonds. Unfortunately, the stressed vine cinched tighter than before. He’d stretched it, and it had reacted by drawing up, as was its nature.
He slumped, all but defeated. But then he noticed a slow stream of droplets running from his elbow. He traced the source and found it was his own blood. He’d cut his left hand.
Getting an idea, he scratched himself repeatedly against the sharp rock, sawing at the palm of his hand rather than the binding fiber itself. A wound soon opened, and blood flowed over the fibers.
The process took the better part of an hour, but eventually his left hand was free. Shaking his hand to awaken the tingling nerves and banish the numbness, he set about freeing the other hand. When this was done, he pulled himself up to investigate the metal grill over the pit. It had been firmly locked down.
After crawling around the rest of the pit, he discovered an exit. A stinking, slimy hole led away into pitch blackness. He was sure this was meant to be a waste chute of some kind. Deciding it was better than being tied into place again, he crawled inside and vanished into the hole.
Like a vine in a wormhole, he wriggled toward what he hoped would be freedom.
Eight
The Black Ship arrived in orbit over Faust as the small, spinning world’s main continent passed from day into night. The planet looked inviting enough from space, the oceans were deep blue and the land was dark green. The main continent possessed the vague shape of a horse’s head. Countless jewel-like islands ringed the landmass.
The crew scanned the planetary emissions in disappointment. There was very little that registered on their sensors.
“No cities?” demanded the Captain in disbelief. His orbs were glued to the scope.
None of the others on the bridge dared to respond, lest this disappointment somehow become their fault.
“There’s precious little of anything down there. It’s practically empty. I’d expected a backward colony—but this is a wilderness!”
He raised his orbs and scanned his bridge crew. The Navigator busied himself with computer scrolls charting escape velocities and refueling points. The Weaponeer fiddled with his controls, despite the fact there was nothing of significance to target.
“Where’s that Engineer?” the Captain demanded. “Get him up here this instant!”
The crew sighed in relief. The Engineer! Yes, it was easy to blame that one. They hastened to obey and relayed the summons to the doomed mech who toiled below the main decks.
Within a few minutes, the Engineer arrived. He strode onto the command deck with purpose. “We’ve arrived? Excellent.”
The Captain stared at him. “Have you lost your faculties? Have you seen these readings? This place is useless.”
“It is a class-four world, to be sure. But we don’t need much. May I participate in the scan?”
The Captain scoffed. “Be my guest.”
The Engineer approached the scope and worked the controls. His silvery orbs stared into the device for perhaps two minutes, before he made an exclamation of discovery.
“There it is,” he said. “That will do nicely.”
The Captain tapped and scraped his grippers over planes of metal. Reacting to the rough contact, the board brought up an image which was transmitted to everyone on the bridge via the local net. Mechs from Talos had little need for viewscreens, they could share vid feeds remotely, and review them in their own individual minds.
“I see nothing but a rocky island.”
“Ah, to the untrained orb, this would seem to be true. These people are primitive, but not without resources. See the circle of stones in the middle of the island?”
“Yes, but I fail—”
“That is our target. Those stones did not appear there magically. They were cut, dragged, placed and apparently melted into place. Each stone is quite large, meaning—”
The Captain cleared his throat. He had the disconnection device in his gripper again. The Engineer never glanced at it, although avoiding it with his orbs took a great effort.
“You will explain yourself, or you will be replaced. I do not detect any significant emissions from this site. The structure might not be natural, but there is no evidence indicating advanced technology.”
The Engineer lifted a gripper and gestured with it emphatically. “Exactly!” he said. “This world isn’t a proper colony. There is no central government. There is no ruling body that enforces coherent laws. In short, the colonists have splintered into distant, armed encampments. They hide their tech so they are not targeted by the other pirate settlements that dot the world.”
The Captain appeared doubtful. “Are you saying they have tech, but are hiding it?”
“Yes.”
“And what evidence do you have to support this conclusion?”
The Engineer brought up a large file of numbers. “You see these readings? They are power measurements. They have a powerful central generator.”
“A generator? To power what?”
“That is what I want to know,” the Engineer said. “There are no emissions to speak of, no communications, no radio. The settlements aren’t in communication, especially this one. It is isolated and ignores the rest. And yet they maintain an impressive power supply.”
“Hmm,” said the Captain. “Weaponry, perhaps?”
“It doesn’t matter. We should land and take what we need.”
“But if they are armed, and the whole world is at war, as you say…”
The Engineer made a dismissive sweep with his gripper. “They surely can’t outgun this ship. Let’s go down and find out what they are hiding so carefully.”
The Captain was quiet for several seconds. Everyone tried to look busy, except for the Engineer, who stood at attention and awaited the verdict. He believed his fate was in the balance. The Captain was fiddling with the disconnection device uncertainly.
“Very well,” he said at last. “But if there is nothing there, you will have failed me, Engineer.”
“That will not happen.”
The Engineer clanked smartly away. When he reached his workshop, he immediately set about working on his project again. He chased all the Techs and Specialists out of the place on pretense of checking every system on the ship. He demanded they repair and recalibrate if they found the slightest flaw. Grumbling, they left him to his work.
He proceeded at a desperate pace, uncertain if his goals were even attainable.
Nine
When Gersen climbed out of the waste chute at last, he was blinded by the bright reddish light of Faust’s star. Sensors were tripped, and an alarm went off. Gersen crawled to his feet wearily. He looked back and realized where he was. He shook his head bitterly. He stood at the base of the outer wall of tall boulders. He’d found the exit point of the passage he’d tried to crawl into days earlier, upon his arrival at the village walls.
The fields of pods writhed, sensing his nearness. The pods were riper now, and in a sour mood. They were very close to their time. Gersen walked among them, wearing nothing more than stained scraps of clothing. He weaved his way between the plants, drawing upon years of experience as a wanderer.
The plants rattled their leaves and sought him with swollen pods. He took up stones, tossing them away from himself when the plants came too near. This worked, but it was reckless behavior. It was always best to slip by the plants without making any kind of disturbance. Today however, he was too annoyed and hurried to take the time to do it right.
“Stranger!” called a voice from behind him.
Gersen turned, craning his neck and squinting in the sunlight. Kerth stood on the wall top. He was alone and had a crossbow cradled in his arms.
Gersen realized he was trapped. He was in the midst of the field. If he ran carelessly, the plants would try to sting him with wild abandon. Without venom, he would have been injured, but not killed. These plants were ripe however, and their hair-thin spines dripped with deadly toxins. A single brush might kill him.
So, Gersen didn’t flee. He turned slowly and faced Kerth, staring up at him. He didn’t beg for his life, although the thought did occur to him.
“You know I can shoot you down?” Kerth asked. “You are a fugitive. You have broken our laws and deserve death. It would be lawfully done.”
Gersen continued to stare. Kerth raised the crossbow, put the stock against his shoulder and aimed with care. Gersen stood with his body turned to the side, providing a narrow target. When the trigger was pulled, he would only have time to flinch, but it might be enough.
“You’ve got nothing to say?” Kerth asked.
“If you’re going to shoot, get on with it,” Gersen said at last. “I’ve got a long way to walk and the plants are restless.”
“They say you are an expert at evading them,” Kerth said, lowering the weapon a fraction. “Let’s see the truth of it.”
So saying, Kerth aimed and shot the plant nearest to Gersen. The central bole of it was pierced, and it shivered in shock. A moment later, it began to thrash.
Gersen had experienced a field in a panic before, and he wasted no more time. He began to run. His feet brushed leaves now and then, and even stepped upon the rubbery length of a squirming vine.
The first plant realized it was injured and went into a frenzy, causing those around it to respond. Like a spreading ripple on a pond, soon all the plants were whipping about, lashing furiously.
Gersen ran and ran, and behind him the air rang with Kerth’s laughter.
Ten
Not wanting to damage any valuable technology the villagers might possess, the Pilot brought the Black Ship down in the fields between the sea and the walls. The flora under the ship writhed in agony and died, turning into burnt scraps of flapping cellulose. Leaves curled and pods shimmered before bursting into flames. Polyps exploded, gushing out steaming vapor and foul, sticky liquids which were soon vaporized in turn.
“Strange plants here,” muttered the Captain as he pressed his orbs to the scope. “I’m not particularly impressed by their domes. They are at least manufactured, but they look old and decrepit.”
None of the crew dared speak. The Pilot landed the ship with a final jolt. They were down. The ship had been designed for both interstellar and atmospheric travel. Most interstellar vessels were built to stay in space forever, but the mech-based technology of Talos was different. The crew could withstand much higher G-forces, as their bodies were mostly artificial. The equipment required to make spaceflight comfortable for humans was thus unnecessary aboard a Talosian ship. There were no inertial dampeners, cryotanks to freeze bodies, nor even much in the way of life support. Food and oxygen production systems were aboard, but minimal. Mechs only had to feed a few pounds of brain tissue, and consumed little.
Most of the vessel’s mass was dedicated to engines, weapons, and power—very little else was required. The ship was smaller in design and more efficient than human ships. Humans would have found it cramped, freezing cold and almost airless, but none of these conditions bothered mechs.
The unloading ramp rolled down, and the hatch opened. Air was sucked into the ship, which maintained a low pressure during flight due to seepage. Everyone’s orbs were quickly fogged over by humidity as the warm, moist air touched the freezing metal.
The Captain cursed and rubbed at his face ineffectively with his grippers. The effect quickly passed, however. “Deploy the First Tactical Squad,” he roared over the regional net. “Standard formation, weapons active. Destroy any resistance, but take care not to damage equipment.”
Everyone aboard watched the First Tactical Squad as it deployed. The Marines marched smartly down the ramp onto the smoking field. A few of the burnt plants at the base of the ramp quivered with the last of their vitality as they were trod upon, but were unable to resist.
Eight Marines left the ship and headed toward the village gates in a column, two abreast. Each had a burner held diagonally across the chest. The flared tips of the weapons wisped with blue light and shimmering vapors rose up into the sky.
The squad halted when they reached the gates and regarded the primitive defensive structure. The Sergeant stepped forward, examining the hinges and wire-wrapped flap-like doors. He was not impressed.
A snap and a whirring sound alerted the squad. A shower of three sticks struck the chassis of two, and the orb-socket of a third. They examined the sticks briefly. They classified them as primitive projectiles of cellulose, tipped with triangular steel heads.
“We’ve been attacked,” the Sergeant said. “Return fire.”
Without further hesitation, the squ
ad lifted their burners and released a gush of lavender plasma. This plasma was similar to flame, but much hotter and longer ranged. It licked out in a three-foot swirl from the throat of every gun and blew holes in the gates and the watchtower that sat above them.
“Hold your fire, you aren’t even injured,” the Captain transmitted in annoyance. “What if there is something of value in that tower?”
Reluctantly, the Marines lowered their burners. The damage had been done, however, and the old watchtower was now teetering on three girders rather than four. It slid crashing down toward the Marines. They clanked backward, servos whirring as they attempted to avoid damage.
The Captain muttered complaints. “Examine those ruins. Is there any sign of technological equipment? A radio, anything?”
The Sergeant picked among the tumbled stones and tangled scraps of metal. The fortification appeared to be held together with rusty wire. He did find a body, which he pulled from the rubble and held up by one leg. It was a male, dressed in tattered cloth. The Sergeant squeezed too hard with his gripper, and snipped off the man’s leg at the calf. Marine grippers were sharper than those wielded by technicians and command personnel. He dropped the mess, causing a wet slap of dead blood to shower the dusty stones.
“Nothing?” demanded the Captain. “Just a few men with stick-throwing devices? These people are primitives. ENGINEER!”
* * *
The Engineer had been waiting for the Captain to demand his presence. He’d also expected the call to be a long, roaring summons, not a polite request. However, he hadn’t expected the order to come so soon.
He hurried to make his final adjustments to the equipment he’d spent the last day and a half building, and urged his Technicians toward the unwieldy system. It resembled a black metal box with various bulbous extensions and connective polymer tubes. The Technicians advanced dubiously. He gestured for them to hurry, and they gingerly picked up the jumble of equipment, carrying it awkwardly in their grippers.
