by B. V. Larson
“No problem,” I said. “Let’s remember, people, not to mouth off to those with higher ranks than ours. Shaw isn’t what he seems. I doubt others will be either when we finally meet them.”
For once, no one argued with me.
=13=
When our next destination was revealed, it gave us the biggest shock of all.
We’d learned to recognize the signs of a new challenge by now. Just before the door to our group cell vanished, the floor always shivered, changing from a safe green tone to a brighter yellow. That meant we were shortly going to be coerced into exiting our chamber.
Now that we’d become familiar with the routine, the simple fact that the floor colors had shifted gave everyone a surge of adrenaline. How quickly we could be conditioned! Every time the main door had faded away in the past, it had revealed a new surprise beyond. Violence and pain had invariably followed.
We gathered at the spot we knew the gap would appear. We gripped our clubs and flexed our muscles. Like a pack of growling dogs, we waited to learn the nature of our fate.
I had just enough time to reflect on how we five individuals had congealed into a team. The process hadn’t been specifically suggested or ordered by anyone. We’d done it naturally, reflexively. For humans, banding together against a common foe was a survival instinct.
Less than twenty-four hours ago any one of us might have murdered the others. Despite this, we now thought of ourselves as a single force against whatever was on the far side of that door. Our most basic natures were on display, and this response, at least, had been positive so far.
The door faded at the exact moment we’d known it would. We thought we were ready for anything—but we were wrong.
When the wall vanished and revealed its secrets, we saw a chamber a hundred times larger than all those we’d seen before. The size of it was awe-inspiring.
The deck was normal metal. I noticed that first. There were no colors to guide us. The ceiling was made of that familiar honeycomb design, but it was so distant that it might as well have been the sky.
Sprawled out for what had to be a square mile or more, was a vast, multi-tiered deck. The place hummed with activity. Thousands of people in uniforms like ours worked in tight groups all over the ship.
Several things struck us right away, and as my team was a vocal one, they began speculating immediately.
“What are they working on?” demanded Dalton. “Are those plane-like crafts supposed to be spaceships?”
“They must be,” Dr. Chang said. “Fighters, maybe? Leo, you’ve been on aircraft carriers. Is that what this is?”
“I think so,” I said, nodding slowly. “It’s huge, and those ships look more like horseshoe crabs than fighter jets, but this whole scene reminds me of an aircraft carrier below decks.”
“Um, guys?” Gwen said. “The floor in our room is still yellow under our feet.”
“Right,” I said. “Let’s move out.”
Taking the lead, I stepped out into the open. Looking behind me, I saw what looked like an endless row of pods like the one we’d just exited. I noticed gaps between many of the pods that appeared to be blank regions of decking.
As we watched, the pod that we’d grown to feel safe within sealed itself again. Samson reached out to touch it, and there was a snapping sound.
He drew back his hand, cursing. “It shocked me!”
“That decking was yellow,” Dr. Chang said.
“That’s right, stupid,” Dalton added unnecessarily.
We watched in concern as our pod sank into the deck. It vanished completely, leaving behind only smooth metal. We felt a sense of loss. Nothing bad had ever happened to us inside that small safe zone. We’d been allowed to rest, heal, and converse like normal humans inside those walls.
Turning away, we gazed with open-mouthed amazement at the hangar deck—for that’s what I’d come to believe it was.
“What do we do, Leo?” Gwen asked, her voice almost a whisper.
“We wait for orders. Quit gawking. You don’t want to look like a rookie.”
The other teams had begun to take notice of us. It was hard not to. Every person on the deck seemed to know what they were doing—except for us.
A group paused in their work and pointed at us. From a distance, they looked a bit odd. As they climbed down from their small ship and walked toward us, that sense of wrongness increased dramatically.
“They’re not human!” Dalton hissed out. “They’re freaks!”
“They’ve got tails,” Gwen said, “furry long tails like leopards or something.”
“I see big teeth… small vestigial claws,” Dr. Chang said. “Interesting. They appear to be humanoid, air-breathing... and clearly a predatory species.”
“Maybe they’ll tell us what we’re supposed to do,” Samson said hopefully.
“Or maybe they’ll eat us,” Dalton said. “Why don’t you go and find out which it is, Samson?”
“Don’t lift your clubs,” I said. “Hold them, but don’t swing them around or look threatening. Let’s try to make friends.”
The group of cat-people came closer than would normally be acceptable to humans without offering a greeting. Instead, they sniffed the air as if checking us out that way.
“Hello,” I said. “Can we help you?”
The leader was a big male. The other four were all females. The big one was tall, about seven feet, if I had to guess. He might have been taller if he’d straightened up. They all had a sort of hunch to them, but I wasn’t sure if that was the way they carried their spines naturally, or if they were lowering their heads on purpose.
The leader gave the air one last long sniff. He ended it with a snort that sent a wet gust in my direction.
“Monkeys?” he demanded at last. “They feed us more monkeys? What’s wrong with Fleet Command?”
I saw his neck and lips move, but the voice I was hearing in spoken English wasn’t coming out of his throat. Somehow, his language was being translated into one that we could understand.
I’d noted previously that this was happening around Shaw as well, and sometimes the words being spoken didn’t match up to the translation. For example, Shaw’s name sounded more like “Shu-ah” if you listened closely enough.
Were these translations occurring inside my head or through some kind of intermediate device? I didn’t know, but I was glad we could at least talk to these creatures.
“We’ve survived the trials,” I said to the cat-man. “We’re the best crew from Earth.”
“The best of Earth!” he laughed as if that were greatly ironic. The other cats surrounded us, laughing too. “You’re mere rinds!” he boomed. “All bone and no meat. Dried-up, fly-blown and tasteless.”
“Are you in command here?” I asked. “I don’t see a triangle on your shoulder. I see one gold button, the same as I have.”
His eyes narrowed. My comment seemed to have pissed him off, but I didn’t care. He was already pissing me off plenty. I tried to reflect on my emotions, wondering if my responses were being goaded by my sym, or if his shitty attitude was the cause of the problem. I suspected it was a combination of both.
“You asked if you could help us,” said the large cat-man. “The answer is ‘yes.’ Here, you may hold my tail.”
Turning around, he lifted his yard-long tail. It was covered in coarse fur. The hairs were mostly black, with gold spots for highlight, just like the fuzz on his head.
I looked at his tail, frowning. I suspected this was some kind of insult. Glancing at Samson, I got an idea. I waved him forward and made a small tugging motion with my hand.
Samson stepped forward immediately. “I’ll do it, Blake,” he said.
With a wave and a smirk, I indicated that he could be my guest.
Samson grabbed the tail firmly in his massive hand. The female cats began giggling. That was when I was sure we’d been insulted.
“That feels excellent, monkey,” the cat-man purred. “Be it known that yo
u have served Ra-tikh well. Do not move now, I must relax in order to relieve myself.”
Another round of twitters came from the females as the lengthy appendage began to convulse in a spasm.
Samson smiled dryly as he squeezed Ra-tikh’s tail and pulled it hard. The cat-man began to turn around—but Samson didn’t let him. He hung onto the tail with all his strength.
Ra-tikh growled. It was a terrifying sound that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Somewhere, in my distant monkey-past, a creature like this one had torn up some of my relatives. My brain was certain of it.
But Samson didn’t care. He kept his grip and grinned at Ra-tikh.
“You’re right kitty-man,” Samson said. “This does feel good.”
Ra-tikh went berserk. He twisted around with startling flexibility, reaching for Samson’s face.
My team had been through Hell together very recently. They didn’t need any further goading. They all lifted their clubs to beat on that big skull, but I waved my fellows back.
Ra-tikh’s teeth were bared, and his fangs revealed. They sank into Samson’s hand, but he kept his grip anyway.
Intervening, I rammed my stick between those toothy jaws, prying them open a bit.
The females were growling now, and I could tell by their eyes they were about to attack us.
“Hold!” a newcomer boomed. It was none other than Shaw. He walked up to us and gave everyone a stern glare. “You were not instructed to harm one another!”
“All I did was hold his tail the way he asked,” Samson said, his teeth gritted in pain. “Then this crazy pussycat turned around and bit me.”
I could feel the big cat’s hot breath on my hands as I drove the club into his throat a little further, causing him to choke.
“Ra-tikh,” I said loudly. “I release you from captivity. Let go of him, Samson.”
Samson did as I’d ordered, and Ra-tikh withdrew his long teeth from Samson’s hand.
Our two groups separated slowly, backing away from one another. Shaw stepped between us, nodding. He made no further comment about the confrontation as he delivered fresh orders to my people.
“There will be one point awarded to both teams,” he said.
“One point?” Ra-tikh complained. “That’s hardly worth coming across the deck.”
Shaw shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a contest.”
Ra-tikh and his crew retreated irritably. They cast frequent glares over their furry shoulders as they left.
“You’re hereby assigned to the hangar deck,” Shaw told the team. “The Fleet needs more crews. Every Rebel world must provide at least one crew. You’ve been chosen to serve here. Do not dishonor Earth.”
He turned around, beckoning for us to follow. We did so warily, eyeing every group as we crossed the decking.
The other crews were, for the most part, humanoid as well. That was the term Dr. Chang had for them, anyway.
Every predatory species back on Earth seemed to be represented. Things with cruel, curved beaks like a bird of prey, as well as cats, wolves, bears and wet-skinned lizards. There were plenty of stranger varieties which were harder to describe.
“A question, Admiral Shaw,” I said.
“Granted.”
“Why is this ship full of aliens? Why so many types of aliens? Who gives the orders at the top?”
He paused and looked at me. “I thought that was clear. We are all related species. We were all seeded upon our worlds long ago. Your lot took on a certain cast to your features, but you’re not primates native to Earth initially. Here on this ship—these are your people. We are all cousins.”
In shock, we eyed the bustling teams.
“They’re all humans?” Gwen asked in amazement.
“No. That’s the name of your particular species from a group classified as primates. I’m saying that we’re all related in a much larger sense. Collectively, we’re called The Kher. We’re wild Kher, however.”
“Wild?” I asked. “As opposed to what?”
“Originally, the Imperials planted us on our home worlds. We’re not quite sure how that happened, we might have escaped or been purposefully released into specific ecospheres. They’ve never bothered to tell us the truth. But in any case, only your distinct strain is comprised of human primates.”
“You’re blowing my mind, Shaw,” Dalton said.
Dr. Chang began gesturing for attention, looking at me.
“Sir,” I said, “can Dr. Chang ask a question?”
“Yes.”
“Are you human?” Dr. Chang asked, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Shaw drew himself up to his full height.
“I’ll try not to take that question as an insult. Your near-total ignorance has been taken into account on your behalf in this case—but don’t push it.”
He began rolling up his sleeve. There, under his blue uniform, we saw a row of scales that were embedded into the flesh of his arm. They looked like diamond-shaped brownish stamps.
That wasn’t all. The way his arms moved—the bones, the muscles—they were all wrong. I could see that clearly now that his flesh had been revealed. He had an extra elbow about where a man’s wrist would have been. He held his hands cocked slightly, and they could bend farther than ours could.
Then Shaw showed his teeth to all of us as we gaped at him. I wasn’t certain if this display was a threat, a demonstration of amusement, or something else entirely.
=14=
We learned fast over the next two days because we had no choice. We were assigned a small spacecraft, called a heavy fighter. It was just like every other vessel that rested on skids on the hangar deck.
At first, we weren’t even allowed to go aboard her. We were only allowed to clean the exterior and take tests every several hours proving we could identify the various ports, armament and latching mechanisms.
We didn’t really have “days” aboard the carrier, which we learned was named “Killer” or something that translated that way. With so many different life-forms represented aboard, no one would have been able to agree on how long to work and how long we should be allowed to rest.
We also learned our syms did the translating when we interacted with others. The symbiotic life-forms inside us were artificial and served many purposes, including communicating at a distance. Rather than using a radio with a traditional headset, we used our syms to relay and transmit messages.
“Days” or “shifts” were about twelve hours long. Every six hours we were ordered back to our pods for rest. We always retired hungry and tired. After we were fed, we sprawled out on thin pads on the floor and slept. It was uncomfortable, but apparently the concept of a soft mattress was a rare one in this galaxy. Most of our fellow predators had never heard of the idea, and they scoffed at it when we tried to explain.
Inside our group’s pod, smaller chambers had now appeared. We were able to sleep separately, and we were expected to relieve ourselves on the decks inside these tiny cubicles.
“This is gross,” Gwen had repeatedly complained, even though the deck absorbed all waste promptly.
We soon got used to it. We had no choice.
“When do we get to fly this thing?” Dalton asked Shaw on the third “day” since gaining access to the hangar deck.
Shaw turned on Dalton slowly. We all thought he was going to smash him one, or maybe throttle the life out of his noisy throat the way he’d done with Dr. Chang. But he didn’t.
“You’re not yet ready,” Shaw said. “But I have hopes that you will be by the time we reach the front.”
We looked at one another in alarm. “The front? What front?”
He showed his teeth again. We’d learned this was usually a sign of amusement, but not always.
“Did you think Killer was built for something other than war?”
“No, but…” Dalton trailed off, disturbed.
“Sir,” I said. “Who are we at war with? For that matter, what kind of organization are we?”
> “As I’ve said, we are the Free Kher. We serve in the Rebel Fleet. The Empire is our enemy, and it rules between this star system and the rim of the galaxy. The Imperials will come for us, as they have always come, when this part of the galaxy is lit up by the Central Fires.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded briskly. “I see… so this ‘front’ is at the center of the galaxy, then?”
“No, of course not. It is in a nearby arm of the galaxy. A region known as the Orion Spur of the Cygnus Carina Arm. Don’t they teach you primates anything about your local surroundings on Earth?”
“Surroundings? You mean as in what stars are nearby? Very little, sir.”
He sighed and shook his head. “Pointless. This entire assignment is beyond pointless.”
“What do you mean, sir?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to enter the active region of the flux soon. If Killer doesn’t scatter too badly as we approach the next beacon star, we’ll be arriving at the Orion Front soon enough to satisfy your curiosity.”
He left us cleaning the ship again, but Dalton threw down his smart-wipes in disgust.
“Bugger him!” he exclaimed. “This freak expects us to fight and die on this ship, but he won’t tell us what his war is about?”
“Pick up that rag, Dalton,” I ordered. “People are watching.”
Ever since our early run-in with Ra-tikh and his crew, others had been considering taking us down. We looked harmless enough to be easy targets. If Samson hadn’t managed to get hold of Ra-tikh’s tail and make him look foolish, I’m certain other groups would have challenged us to combat by now.
That was the way things went on this ship. You gained status by deeds in battle or by abusing rival teams. If you wanted a better ship, you had to fight for it. There seemed to be few other methods of conflict resolution aboard Killer.
At the end of the “day” Shaw returned with another officer. This guy was squatty and mean-looking. If I had to choose, I’d say he reminded me of a two-legged walrus. He had whiskers as thick and straight as shoots of dry spaghetti poking out around yellowed tusks.
