With a sort of fascinated dread, she watched Kkrick’s cohorts scale the wall, still carrying the dead beast. They reached the first terrace and disappeared into a cave. Kkrick turned to look at her. She felt his gaze like a stab to her stomach.
Curse Trace for talking her into climbing into this death pit. She was not the least bit interested in how these bugs lived.
Trace prodded her. Woodenly, she walked toward Kkrick. Ants watched with unblinking eyes.
Kkrick bowed. “Do you wishkk to bathe before eatingkk?”
“No, we just… bathed,” Trace said.
“Much kkgood. Come to feast. I take you childrenskk way.” He walked up a ramp to the first terrace.
The walls were rippled and pocked. Ants scaled the surface as if upon ladders. They seemed anxious to catch a glimpse of the newcomers.
Kkrick led to another terrace and then another. Impani glanced down. Below them, ants poured from the tunnels into the city. There were hundreds of them. Their horrible clicking sounds echoed in the vast space. Again, Trace prodded her.
She continued upward along the slanted ledge. The cave openings she passed were octagonal. Through the filters of her mask, she smelled moldy dirt. And something else. Death. Like the old tombs and crypts in the cemetery where she’d grown up.
Kkrick stopped. He motioned her toward a cave. Impani dug in her heels, and her partner walked into her back. She looked at Trace, pleading with her eyes for him not to force her to go in there.
<<>>
Trace smiled encouragingly at Impani, although he wasn’t sure she could see him in the gloom. He bounced on the balls of his feet, excited to see more of the hive. He remembered the ant farm he’d kept as a boy, remembered watching day-by-day as the ants built their kingdom.
He glanced at the opening of the cave. Like the other caves they’d passed, this one smelled of freshly overturned soil, reminding him of his father’s farm. The impression of welcome faded with the impatient clicking of their guide.
“Kkrick wants us to go in,” he said to Impani. “That’s right, isn’t it? We should go inside?”
Kkrick nodded. “Sticky.”
Trace ushered Impani through the opening into a round vestibule. The floor was indeed sticky and oddly resilient, as if he walked upon netting. Strands draped down. They adhered to his faceplate when he brushed against them.
He looked up. The ceiling danced with gold-green lights that scuttled over one another. The lights were alive.
“Spiders.” He nudged Impani. “Look. They have phosphorescent patterns on their backs.”
She didn’t reply. Why wasn’t she intrigued? What kind of Scout hated bugs?
Kkrick stepped behind them. He plucked a spider from the wall with two prehensile fingers. Holding the wriggling arachnid, he bit into its body. It sounded like he was eating a crisp apple.
He held the spider toward Trace. “Much kkgood.”
“No. Thank you.” Perhaps he’d been wrong to hope for food from their hosts.
Kkrick shrugged, which was an odd sight on a creature with four arms. Still munching his snack, he led them through another entrance into a larger cave. The room was well lit and warmed by torches blazing from the walls. It looked like a chamber in a medieval castle.
Five ant-beings lounged around a stone table in the center. They wore ill-fitting togas woven of knobby thread, which Trace assumed was spider silk. Their chattering clicks sounded remarkably like laughter. They drank and sloshed about large, metal goblets and took no notice of Impani and Trace.
“Has the feast already started?” Trace asked in a hushed tone
“Always they are here,” said Kkrick. “Always eatingkk. They feed the kkqueen.”
He swallowed a jab of unease. Who was fed to the queen? He puzzled through Kkrick’s words, then said, “They fill their stomachs then regurgitate for her?”
“Unless she hungerskk more and takes them whole.” Kkrick laughed at his own joke. “Come. Feast.”
He clicked and waved at the group around the table. They stopped their revelry and moved to the end to make room.
Kkrick bowed to Trace. “I tell them you are handlers of the otherskk.”
Impani stepped forward. “And who exactly are these—”
Trace squeezed her arm. “Kkrick, where are the others?”
“They come. We choose kkcommanders to feast and pay homage to you.”
“And it was through these commanders that you learned to speak our language?”
Kkrick stared. “Of course.”
Impani wrenched her arm away. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Relax. If there are others here who speak our language, they might be able to help us get home.” He guided her to the table.
They sat cross-legged upon the floor. A sour smell filtered into his mask. Probably mead. He grinned and glanced around. A platter held a tangled pile of spiders, apparently roasted, their legs curled over one another. Bones the size of human finger bones littered the stone tabletop.
The other creatures glared as if they’d ruined the party. Their black eyes were large and reflective. Trace shied from their gaze then jumped as Kkrick set down two goblets of green liquid. It looked more like bile than mead.
“I’m not drinking that drel,” Impani rasped.
Trace smiled and nodded as if she’d said something complimentary. He held a goblet toward her. “Look at this workmanship.”
Impani gave him a blank stare.
“I’m not joking. Such metalwork is thought to be impossible for creatures without opposable thumbs.”
“Maybe the others made it for them,” she muttered.
Trace scowled. Her attitude was not befitting a Scout. He was just about to tell her so when another creature came into the room.
This one was smaller and had a reddish sheen to its shell-encased body. He carried what appeared to be a water-filled bladder. The newcomer sat on the edge of the table. With the bladder between his knees, he began to knead and stroke it rhythmically. The bloated organ let out an eerie sound, like a sheep’s bleat echoing from a deep well.
It took several moments before Trace realized it was music. He glanced about the table. The ant creatures sat with their heads inclined, mesmerized by the throbbing tones. All conversation stopped.
Then a parade of creatures entered, each with a platter of meat. The aroma of a barbeque filled the air. The food bearers set the platters on the table while the bladder musician played on.
Trace’s stomach growled. But before he could move, a ruckus came from the entryway.
“Kkgood.” Kkrick stirred lethargically. “Otherskk are come.”
A man and a woman were shoved into the room. They wore heavy, standard-issue winter clothing. Their faces were pale and gaunt, their eyes ringed with fear. Then their expressions hardened.
“Scouts?” the woman cried hoarsely. “Colonial Scouts?”
She lunged toward Trace and Impani across the table. The man scrambled to catch her, holding her back. Froth flecked her lips, and her reddened eyes bulged.
“Kill you!” she screamed. “I will kill you!”
<<>>
Natica Galos stared in disbelief at the man behind the podium. The academy was suspending operations? But what about the rescue? What about Impani? She glanced to either side at the other cadets in the assembly hall. They were just sitting there. Wasn’t anyone going to speak up? Didn’t they see how wrong this was?
She glimpsed Robert Wilde at the back of the room and felt a stab of anger. He pretended to love Impani, but he was like the rest. No one was speaking out for her.
Sinking lower in her chair, Natica turned her gaze back to the Director’s Assistant at the head of the room.
<<>>
Robert Wilde was so furious he expected his brains to boil out of the top of his head. They were terminating all sessions, including the rescue. Those stupid, frigging—
He glared around as the other students filed out the hall. They were all politely s
hocked, all secretly relieved that it hadn’t happened to them. None of them gave a drel about Impani.
Wilde closed his eyes, trying to imagine where she might be. There were so many planets within reach of an Impellic ring. Was she safe on a green world or trapped in a nightmare?
God, they’ve terminated the rescue. No way to know what she was going through. Worse yet, she was out there with Trace Hanson. Wilde imagined Hanson putting moves on Impani, taking advantage of her fear and confusion. He pictured him laughing as if he had her all to himself, stepping up for her kiss—
Wilde leaped to his feet, knocking back his chair. Impani was his girl. She loved him.
He glanced about. The room was emptying. At the entrance, Natica Galos stood talking to Mr. Mogley. Wilde stormed ahead, but before he reached the front of the room, Mogley left. He approached Natica. Her face was blotchy. Crying. That only made him angrier.
“Well? What did he say?” Wilde demanded.
She blinked at him. “Robert, I really can’t—”
“Did you convince him to keep looking?”
“No.”
“Why not?” He grabbed her arm. “Are you just going to let her die? What kind of a friend are you?”
“He said he doesn’t have the power.”
“Then who does have the power?”
Her eyes widened as if he’d made some revelation. She yanked her arm from his grasp. “Sorry, Robert. I have to go.”
Wilde frowned as she rushed from the room.
Chapter 10
Impani leaped up, gawking at the hysterical woman. These people looked like colonists. What was going on?
Kkrick stood. In one fluid movement, he vaulted over the table and shoved the woman backwards. She slammed against the wall then sank to her knees, holding her head with a dazed expression. Impani stepped forward to help her but became suddenly aware of the ants watching as if appraising her reaction. She stood where she was.
The man rushed to the woman’s side. “Marie. Are you all right? Can you stand?”
Kkrick grabbed the man by the scruff of his coat and tossed him so that he landed near Trace’s feet. He clicked, “Respectkk your handlers.”
The man shuffled forward on his knees. “Help us. Please. No one leaves this place.”
“What are you talking about?” Trace pulled him to his feet. “Who are you?”
“I am Avid McCleary, hydroponics engineer of Colonization Project Number B1X-39-4A. We came to this planet because the Colonial Scouts said it was uninhabited.” He gave a barking laugh, tears flowing. “Uninhabited. They didn’t know, didn’t take the time.”
“Colonists?” Trace asked. “How many?”
The man’s face contorted. “They keep us in the paddock. They feed on us. Like cattle.”
Impani touched his shoulder. “Mr. McCleary, how long have your people been here?”
“Five years,” he said dully.
Impani stepped back. Five years. Five years of terror, of watching those closest to you die, all because a Scout made a mistake. Because of incompetent reporting.
Tears stung her eyes. She slid back her mask and ran a hand over her face.
The room erupted.
“You are not handlers!” Kkrick chattered, pointing at her. “You are otherskk. Like them!”
And Impani realized why they had been treated with deference. Kkrick had mistaken their skinsuits for exoskeletons. He thought they were a new type of ant, probably feared they were on the brink of war for feeding on the colonists without permission. He thought they were in charge—like him.
With a wave of his many hands, Kkrick directed several ants into the room. Each carried a spear. Impani reached for her gun, but they were on her, their bulging, glassy eyes close to her face, spear points at her throat. Their horrible clicking voices echoed in her ears. They yanked her arms behind her as they propelled her body forward. She glimpsed the other ants at the table still watching. Glimpsed the woman propped against the wall.
Avid McCleary’s terrified wail came behind her. “Don’t leave us! Don’t leave us!”
Impani struggled to look around. All she saw were bobbing spearheads. “Trace?”
“I’m here,” he called, his voice strained.
“Can you reach your gun?”
He hesitated. “No.”
Her eyes widened. Don’t panic, she told herself. Remember your training. But she couldn’t recall a classroom lecture that covered man-eating bugs.
She stumbled out onto the terrace, her hands wrenched painfully behind her back. The ants moved faster than she could walk, and they half carried her through the city. Their limbs were twig thin and stiff.
Her flesh crawled. They ate people. Colonists. She pictured the platters of cooked meat, the bones upon the table. What if she and Trace had eaten at that feast?
She gagged and nearly fell. An arm tightened around her waist. She felt herself lifted into the air and carried into a tunnel. Darkness closed around her like a fist. She sensed the ceiling scant centimeters above her face. Her eyelids fluttered, and she must have fainted because the next thing she knew she was being carried feet first up a narrow incline.
Cold air slapped her awake. She struck the ceiling. Dust and pebbles rained into her eyes. Light gleamed upon the ants’ heads as they swarmed beneath her. Their wretched two-fingered hands pinned her arms, her legs, as they bore her out of the passage.
Stars twinkled above. Impani gulped fresh air as if she’d been drowning. She lifted her head, trying to see where they were taking her.
Spotlights streamed upward like a halo around the shadowy outlines of Quonset huts. People moved within the light. Colonists. She thought of the woman’s reaction to seeing two Scouts after five years on this world.
Suddenly she was propelled through the air, thrown into the compound. She rolled with the impact, pulled her stat-gun from its holster, and pointed it at the ants.
But Trace was already up. “Bugs! I hate bugs!” He fired his weapon, strafing the night with electric-blue discharge.
Impani played her wrist lamp over the empty plain. The ants were gone. What sort of creatures could move so fast? Then she heard voices behind her.
“They’re Scouts,” someone said. “Come and look. It’s not Avid and Marie at all. It’s two Scouts.”
“Colonial Scouts?” a woman asked.
“Holy seas. It is.”
Impani turned to face a dozen colonists. She holstered her gun then spread her hands, trying to think of something to say. But she remembered the despair in Avid McCleary’s words. What could she tell these people?
The colonists clustered around them in a semi-circle, their faces stark in the spotlights.
“Come back to admire your handiwork?” snarled a man.
“This is your doing,” said another.
“Stop it!” A woman swatted him. “Don’t you see? They can send help.”
“Is that true?” A man stepped forward. He had a thick scar across his cheek. “Can you get a message out?”
Trace stammered, “W-we’re not in contact—”
“But you’re Scouts. Someone must have sent you.”
“What’s all this?” A woman bustled toward them through the streaming light.
“Newcomers,” said the snarling man.
“Soldiers brought them.”
“They’re Scouts, Missus. They’re going to help us.”
“Is that so?” Missus said.
Impani had the sense that she was being appraised. She decided anything she said would make the situation worse, so she stood in silence at Trace’s side, glancing from face to face.
Finally, Missus said, “It will be lights out soon. Get on home, all of you. There will be time enough in the morning to discuss who will help who.”
With excited whispers, the crowd disbursed. Missus walked up to Impani and Trace.
“You’re not real Scouts, are you?” she asked quietly. “You’re children. Here by mistake.”
<
br /> “We’re cadets,” Trace told her.
“We were in a training session,” Impani said. “The Impellic ring malfunctioned.”
“I didn’t think they’d resend Scouts to such a thriving community.” She chuckled without humor. “I’m Cassandra, but they call me Mrs. Fixes. I’m the maintenance mechanic.”
“I’m Trace, and this is my partner, Impani.”
Missus nodded. “Like I said, it will be lights out soon. Best get you to shelter.” She turned and addressed a shadow within the light. “It’s all right, kids. They’re harmless.”
A girl stepped into the open. She carried a young boy, but he wriggled from her grasp and ran toward them.
Missus scooped him up. “My son, Timothy.”
Impani’s stomach dropped. “There are children here?”
“Timothy’s the first to be born on this planet. We were so happy. That was before the soldiers came.” With her son in her arms, she headed toward the huts. “I’ll put you in a storage shed with a portable heater. It’s going to get cold.”
Impani couldn’t imagine it getting much colder.
Trace said, “We haven’t eaten and…”
“Well, food is one thing we have plenty of. Lathi, why don’t you bring over some of that leftover stew?”
The girl’s face lit, and she ran off. She was barely in her teens. Too young to live with such horror.
Missus yanked open the door of a domed shed and strode inside. She pulled several thick blankets from a shelf. “Sorry I can’t offer you a bed. We’ll see to better arrangements in the morning.”
Would they still be there in the morning? She wanted away from this terrifying world.
Then Lathi came in with two covered dishes.
Trace took the plates from her. “Thanks.”
“Lathi, take Timothy and get straight home,” Missus said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lathi took the boy from his mother’s arms and rushed out of the dome, letting the door slam.
Missus dragged a battered cylinder from the corner and knelt to toggle a switch. She struck a panel with the heel of her hand, and a light blinked.
Alien Worlds Page 9
