Alien Worlds

by Roxanne Smolen

  “Relax,” Robert said. “You’re safe.”

  “Where’s Natica?”

  “I’ve got her.”

  She leaned into his arms, her body spent, ears pounding with the roar of the rapids. Then she saw Trace.

  She held out her hand for his. “Trace, thank you. Thank you both.”

  He tossed her the hook from her safety line, his expression hidden by his spattered mask. “Let’s get out of this river.” He lifted Natica like a child and waded to the bank.

  Impani gaped, taken aback, and followed her partner. She buried her hands in curly gray grass and pulled herself out of the water.

  For a moment, she only lay there, breathing in the musty fragrance of the alien world. Then she crawled to Natica. She winced at her friend’s pallor. But she was alive.

  Trace unlatched his mask, and slid it to the top of his head. He looked exhausted. She wanted to ask what had happened to him while she was in the crevice. What made him let go of the line?

  But Robert pushed between them. “This is the wrong world. I’m not supposed to be here.”

  Impani nodded. “I know why Natica came over. I was holding her as tightly as I could. But I don’t know why you—” She stared. Had they been fighting? Had they been grappling around in the dirt when the ring came for Trace?

  “Well, somebody better figure something out,” Robert said. “How could a ring pick up four of us, anyway? I thought they could only carry two.”

  “Where’s the equipment you mentioned?” Trace growled.

  “Here.” Robert rummaged through Natica’s belt and pulled out two drenched parcels. He paused then looked up, eyes wide, voice low. “The power pack is missing.”

  Chapter 14

  Trace glared. “What exactly do you mean, missing?”

  “I mean the modules are gone,” Wilde said. “Some of her other stuff, too. Her gun. Her med-pac. The device we used to find you.”

  “Drel! They must be in the river.”

  “Don’t blame me,” said Wilde. “You’re the reason they were in the water in the first place.”

  “Me?” he shouted.

  “If you hadn’t dropped them—”

  “Robert, this isn’t helping,” Impani said.

  “I’m not even supposed to be here,” he growled and folded his arms.

  Trace opened the end of a parcel. Circuit chips. He handed them to Impani. “See what you can do with this.”

  “First, we have to help Natica.”

  “Oh, by all means. Let’s help Natica.” He snapped open his med-pac and tossed vials onto the pale grass. “We have an antigen, an analgesic, a general antitoxin. Which of these do you think will help?”

  She stared at him, and he felt like a jerk.

  “Impani, I think she has a head injury. The best way to help her is to get her back home to a hospital. Please look at the components.”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” Wilde leaped to his feet. “The power pack is missing. The components are worthless.”

  “What were they supposed to do?” She poured thumbnail-sized chips into her hand.

  “Recall the ring or something. I don’t know.” Then he added hotly, “Galos said she understood, so why should I bother?”

  “Right,” Trace said. “You were just along for the ride.”

  Wilde’s eyes flashed, and muscles rippled along his jaw. Trace stood slowly, his gaze unwavering.

  With a derisive sniff, Wilde turned his back. “I’m going to see if anything washed up downstream.”

  Trace watched him walk away. He glanced at Impani, and before he could consider his words, he blurted, “You’re going out with him?”

  She blushed. “I’ve tried to break it off, but he won’t listen. When I saw him with Natica just now, I thought that he was stalking me all the way out here.”

  Her sincerity deflated his anger. He relaxed his stance. She opened the second package, taking out a larger circuit board and setting it on the grass. He watched her, wanting to tell her how important she’d become to him, that he wanted to be the one with her.

  “I’m sorry I dropped you,” he said. “When I saw you in that river—”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No it’s not. I let you down. You have a right to be angry.”

  “I’m too hungry to be mad. But I found a flaw in our facemasks. The filters became so water-logged I could barely lift my head.”

  “We’ll have to complain about that when we get back.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “We’re never getting back. I have no idea what to do with this board.”

  He searched for something insightful to say. Silence stretched between them. He glanced down the river just as a silvery, oblong shape cleared the trees. “What’s that?”

  Impani leaped up. “It’s an airship. If there’s civilization here, maybe they can help Natica.”

  He peered through his field glasses. “It’s a hot air balloon. I see several people. They’re… throwing things overboard. And someone on the ground is shooting back at them. Darts or maybe small arrows.”

  “It’s a battle?”

  Had they dropped into a war zone? He focused upon the people on the balloon. They were throwing heavy-looking round objects. Like cannonballs only without the cannon.

  “We need to find cover,” he said. “Gather up the circuit chips. I’ll get Natica.”

  “What about Robert?”

  Trace ignored the question. Lifting Natica, he led away from the riverbank. The thunder of the rapids receded. Corkscrew-shaped reeds clattered as they walked beneath the trees. Gnarled, leafless branches formed a lattice overhead.

  “They won’t see us here.” He set Natica upon the damp ground.

  “Maybe they should see us,” Impani said. “Maybe they have cities and doctors.”

  “I’d like that. But rings are programmed to drop onto uninhabited planets. If there were cities in evidence, we wouldn’t be here.”

  Impani nodded dejectedly. She looked drained. Kneeling beside her unconscious friend, she asked, “Why won’t she wake?”

  “I think she’s in shock. The skinsuit will keep her warm.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “I’m afraid of making it worse.”

  Her face contorted. A sob escaped her, and she put a hand to her mouth. “I can’t have anyone else die because of me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Come on. What is it?”

  Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. “I can’t tell you.”

  He put his arm around her. “I know about secrets. They start out as fear, but with time and silence, they grow into something more. The only way to control them is to tell one person. Someone you trust.”

  She nodded against his chest. He pulled her closer, content to wait until she felt ready to speak. Then he heard footsteps crashing through the brush behind him.

  <<>>

  Impani felt a jab of irritation as Trace pulled away. She’d been ready to tell him—wanted to tell him, wanted him to understand. She looked over his shoulder to see Robert Wilde running toward them through the crooked trees. Her cheeks warmed and she shied from Trace’s side, which only made her angrier. She wouldn’t let Robert control her life.

  Then she saw the panic on his face.

  “There you are!” Robert cried. “Get up! We’ve got to go.”

  Foreboding filled her hollow stomach. She stood as several purple-skinned humanoids stepped out from behind the trees and surrounded them.

  They were at least two and a half meters tall and had narrow, sloping shoulders. Their hair was thick, white, and bristled like a mane. Chainmail covered their torsos, but their feet were bare. They wore miniature crossbows strapped to their wrists.

  “Warriors,” she whispered.

  Trace made a disgusted sound at Robert. “You led them to us?”

  “Right.” Robert scowled. “Con
sidering I didn’t know where you had gone.”

  “Shush.” Impani glared at the boys then stepped forward. “We are peaceful travelers. We mean no harm.”

  One of the warriors made a sound crossed between a goose and a donkey. He moved as if he were made of rubber. The others pointed their crossbows. She became acutely aware of her empty holster.

  Still honking and braying, the purple alien walked up to her and shoved her hard. Trace leaped between them.

  As Impani staggered backward, Robert drew his stat-gun. “Don’t!” she shouted.

  Before he could fire, a warrior sprang in a textbook Karate spin and kicked the gun from his hand. The first warrior picked it up. Trace dove into her, knocking her to the ground as a bolt of energy shot overhead. A severed tree limb and many twisted twigs rained down.

  She rose to her knees. The alien held the stat-gun with confidence, as if familiar with it.

  Trace whispered, “How did he know how to fire a weapon?”

  She shook her head. It didn’t make sense. Why wear a coat of mail but no helmet, no boots? Why bother with arrows if you could wield a gun?

  The first warrior pulled her up, shoving her and waving his rubbery arms.

  She pushed back and shouted, “I can’t go with you. I have an injured companion.”

  As if planned, several aliens placed Natica on the tree limb that had fallen with the blast. They dragged her into the woods.

  “Hey! Stop!” she yelled. A solid shove caused her to gulp and cough. The purple warrior towered over her. Impani sorted through her options and realized she had very few. Falling in line with the other warriors, she hurried after Natica.

  Behind her, Robert muttered, “Nice move, Hanson. You know you can’t fight.”

  “I’m not the one who gave them a gun,” Trace told him.

  Impani hissed between her teeth. “Stop it! Both of you!”

  “But you’d think he’d never been trained in first-contact situations,” Trace said.

  She shot him a furious glance. As far as first-contact scenarios went, this was a disaster.

  The purple-skinned warriors marched them at a steady pace through the woods. Tangled grass snagged her boots. She noticed no other creatures on the ground, but the trees harbored black-and-green snakes. She also saw small, long-tailed marsupials that watched with golden eyes as the group passed beneath their nests.

  The sun dipped low. Rays flashed through the naked branches. Her breath frosted with the plummeting temperature. She trembled with hunger. Taking out her flask of water, she drank deeply, hoping to fill the gnawing emptiness within her.

  She imagined Trace’s disapproving gaze at her back. They would need the water. She didn’t care. She only had to wait until Natica awoke. Natica would know what to do with the circuit board. She would get them home.

  They stepped into a clearing ringed by tree stumps. A wooden tower with a lookout perch stood in the center. Large, sloping mounds scalloped the ground. A purple person crawled out of one, and Impani realized the mounds were houses made of living grass, the stringy, matted strands combed over low frames.

  The person hooted and pointed. Suddenly, the glade swarmed with purple-skinned people. Some wore coats of mail like warriors, but most were naked. They flapped their rubbery arms as if shooing the cadets away.

  Children ran from the houses. They walked in step with Impani and her captors, looking up as if in awe. Their stomachs were distended, their bodies tinted violet by the light of the setting sun.

  The warriors halted and surrounded the cadets as if to keep them from running away. The one with Robert’s gun hurried ahead and disappeared inside a grassy mound.

  Impani glanced about the village. Fish dried on a rack over a smoky fire. Another rack held wooden rakes probably used to maintain the grass huts. She saw nothing to indicate an aggressive society.

  People clustered around her, watching with hooded eyes. They hooted softly. Then the purple warrior fairly flew out of the hut. Impani gawped at a man who emerged.

  He had long, tangled hair and a beard to mid-chest, looking like a man marooned on a desert island. He wore a skinsuit with the hood pulled back.

  “Friends!” He laughed, arms spread wide. “Welcome to the end of the line.”

  Chapter 15

  Impani stared at the wild-looking man. “You’re a Scout.”

  He bowed flamboyantly. “My name is Joss. But you may refer to me as Your Royal Emperor.”

  “What?” She blinked.

  Robert made a broad gesture. “You’re leader here?”

  Joss widened his eyes. “All mine. And these are my grapes.”

  Grapes? Was that what he called the purple-skinned humanoids? Impani took a step back and bumped into the grape behind her.

  The first warrior held out Robert’s stat-gun and hooted as if relaying a story.

  Joss took the gun, turning it over in his hands, whispering. “Refit date. Refit date.” Suddenly, he whooped and leaped into the air. “Where are the rest? I want all the firearms.”

  Trace hesitated. As if prodded, he stepped forward and handed over his stat-gun.

  “That’s all?” Joss looked crestfallen. Then he grinned. “I see our government has wisely decided to issue empty holsters to females.”

  Robert chuckled.

  Joss checked the weapon then yelled, “Yes! I have survived another year! I reign supreme!” He hopped in a circle, waving the guns and shooting into the air. Abruptly, he tossed them back to Trace and Robert. “This calls for a celebration. A luau! Everyone will attend!”

  Impani stared as he honked instructions to the villagers. She pointed. “Our friend is hurt.”

  “No excuses!” he bellowed.

  He stormed off, braying and gesturing. Villagers and warriors alike rushed to his call. The cadets were left alone at the edge of the village.

  “This is creepy,” she whispered.

  “I know.” Robert nodded. “What are the odds of finding another lost Scout? How often do Impellic rings malfunction, anyway?”

  He sounded relieved. Perhaps he felt that if Joss could survive on this planet, he could, too. But she wasn’t so sure. Joss acted mentally unbalanced.

  “What did he mean,” she asked, “when he called this place the end of the line?”

  <<>>

  Newton Ambri-Cutt entered the tribunal hall, glancing at the vast ceiling as if he would be struck down at any moment. His footsteps echoed unevenly. Clearing his throat, he sat at the end of a large T-shaped table. The cross section was elevated so that the seven Board members looked down upon him. He felt like an insect under glass.

  The Chairman said, “Please sit back and rest your hands on the arms of the chair. This shouldn’t take long.” He raised his voice. “Begin recording.”

  A spotlight clicked, affixing to Ambri-Cutt’s face. Wincing, he glanced down the table at Director Hammond, hoping for a nod of support, a promise of help. Her gray eyes showed no emotion.

  The Chairman said, “This is a preliminary hearing into charges of gross misconduct by Technician First Class, Newton Ambri-Cutt. Mr. Ambri-Cutt, are you aware of the systems lockdown at the academy?”

  Ambri-Cutt sought his voice. “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you willfully disregard that order?”

  “I did, sir,” he said. “Yes.”

  A murmur of voices swept the Board. Then a woman leaned forward. Her dark hair was pulled back so severely, her eyebrows looked perpetually surprised.

  “As a technician,” she said, her voice high-pitched and grating, “are you aware of the enormous cost of maintaining an Impellic field?”

  He shifted in his seat. “I know it’s a bit expensive, but—”

  “Yet you took it on yourself to design and initiate an unsanctioned ring sequence. What happened to the ring in question?”

  “It came back empty.”

  “Empty.” She nodded. “The children you sent are dead.”

  She waited as if exp
ecting him to answer, and he choked back the words that came to mind. What about the children you sent out? What about Impani? You discontinued the rescue to save your budget.

  Director Hammond’s voice broke into the silence. “Mr. Ambri-Cutt, did you sabotage the session in which Purveyor Aldus Hanson’s son was lost?”

  “No. Of course I didn’t.”

  “Are you a sympathizer with the movement to end the colonial program?”

  He gaped at her, cold shock sliding down his shoulder blades. She was going to do it, just as she said she would. She was going to use him as a scapegoat. “You know I’m not.”

  She gave a chilling smile. “Why did you disregard the order to suspend operations?”

  He folded his arms. “Rescue.”

  “Please keep your hands on the arms of the chair,” the Chairman told him.

  Ambri-Cutt jerked. He squirmed from the spotlight then lowered his arms.

  “Could you repeat your reply?” Hammond asked.

  He glared at her. “I wanted to save them.”

  “They are lost in a wormhole. Where in this universe did you plan to look?”

  “I back-loaded the beacon, developed a process—”

  “A process that had never been used before,” she said. “A process that had never even been thought of before until you conceived it.”

  He stared in silence, gripping the arms of his chair. He hoped they were getting a good reading, hoped they knew how murderous he felt at that moment.

  Hammond sat back. “In good faith, I authorized one rescue mission. Can you tell us what happened to that mission?”

  “It failed.”

  “And yet you felt confident enough to refine your computations and try again—risking all this?” She motioned dramatically. “Mr. Ambri-Cutt, do you know how many training missions we have lost in this manner?”

  “Three in the ten years I’ve been here.”

  “Do you know how many scouting missions the CEB has lost?”

  “I don’t know. One or two.”

  “Per year, Mr. Ambri-Cutt. One or two missions per year. Costly, as my colleague has pointed out, not only in energy waste but also in man-hours, training, and public sentiment. A process to track and retrieve lost Scouts would be invaluable.”