The Eternal Enemy

by Michael Berlyn

  “Where do you plan to take me?” Straka demanded.

  “That is unimportant,” Alpha said.

  “To you, maybe, but not to me, and not to these men. They’re not going to sit by and let you take me away like this, unchallenged.”

  “None of you is in any condition to challenge anything,” Alpha said.

  Straka threw back her long, narrow face and laughed.

  Everyone froze. The planet seemed to stop spinning for an instant as everyone in the encampment turned to look at Straka.

  “You know nothing about us. You haven’t the slightest idea about humans. Saying something like that shows your total ignorance.” She lowered her gaze and stared hard at Alpha. “Don’t make me teach you about Terrans the hard way,” she threatened.

  “We have no need to learn more. We know what you did on Gandji.”

  “And you still haven’t learned anything from that, I see. Well, well, well. Interesting, isn’t it, men?” she asked.

  The crew made grumbling noises that voiced their agreement, nodding their heads, smiling evilly, shifting their positions.

  “Humans enjoy fighting,” she said, watching Alpha, hoping to see some kind of reaction in that strange, alien face. “They’ll fight under extreme conditions. They’ll fight when they’re unarmed against an armed enemy. They’ll fight when hopelessly outnumbered. They’ll fight when death is inevitable, just to take someone with them. Some continue to fight while dying.”

  “Get in the ship, Straka,” Alpha said.

  “The Captain stays with us!” Wilhelm shouted at Alpha. Alpha turned his head slightly so that he stared directly into Wilhelm’s eyes.

  “Yeah,” Jackson yelled. “You’re not going to take her!”

  Alpha’s head whipped around so that he looked directly at Jackson. The rest of the crew voiced their agreement.

  “Aim!” Alpha said, looking straight at Straka again.

  The Terrans stared down the barrels of ten lasetubes. Straka thought quickly: They won’t fire. They can’t. They’re Habers. They’re pacific.

  But I can’t afford to take that chance for all of us.

  “Wait!” she said, voice cracking.

  Everyone waited. The Habers were like statues sculpted by some psychotic inmate. The Terrans were like attentive puppies waiting for their master’s voice.

  “At least give us some assurance that we’ll be fed if I comply with your request,” she said.

  “Unlike humans, we do not live to deceive, Straka. I already told you that you will be returned here as soon as possible. We will not harm you. And when you are returned, we will bring food and water.”

  That seems to end negotiations, she thought. But I can’t just walk out of the compound like this—I’ve got to set up some chain of command.

  “I need a few moments with my men before I board your ship.”

  “Fine,” Alpha said.

  Straka wasted no time. “McGowen—you’re in charge. Wilhelm is second in command. And Jackson, so help me, if you make trouble while I’m gone, you’ll pay dearly. I want all of you to watch Kominski. Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.” She looked directly at McGowen. “Like eating the grass.”

  “What about Maxwell?” McGowen asked.

  “Good point.” She looked across the compound to Alpha. She broke away from the tight group and took a few painful steps toward the Habers. “Listen,” she said, “one of my men is dying. He’s seriously ill. Could you do for him what you did for that one?” she asked, pointing out McGowen.

  “Yes,” Alpha said. “When we return.”

  “But he may not be alive then!”

  “Come quickly, then, Straka. We waste time. Get in the ship now. Each moment you delay brings that man closer to death.”

  Straka knew she couldn’t change Alpha’s mind. She turned to glance back at the building, then walked slowly, painfully, in shuffling steps to the alien ship. When she reached its side, Alpha picked her up as if she weighed nothing and placed her on the deck.

  “She will be returned,” Alpha said to the group of staring men. He climbed up to the bay deck.

  As the doors started to close on the outside world, she heard Kominski wail. Then she heard a sharp crack, someone being slapped across the face, immediately followed by, “Shut up, ’Minski!” in Jackson’s voice. “Cool out!” Wilhelm shouted. “Don’t give me orders,” Jackson shouted back.

  The bay door closed and shut off the noise from the compound. Straka shook her head, weary, tired, parched, hungry, and filthy, afraid of what she would find if and when the Habers returned her to the pen.

  Their weapons made her nervous. Being without her crew made her nervous. Not knowing where the Habers were taking her, or why, made her nervous. Their eyes made her nervous. She remembered far too well what Markos had done to Van Pelt.

  Two Habers communicated silently while the others rested. It looked as if they had dropped into a deep meditation, but instead of their breathing slowing down, it sped up in ragged gasps. She looked around at some of the quiescent Habers and saw that not all of them were breathing.

  By the time she had settled in and made herself as comfortable as possible on the deck, the ship had landed. There were no distinct physical sensations that cued her to this, but the reappearance of Alpha at the top of the ramp and the meditative Habers’ stirrings were enough signs. They held their weapons trained on her. Alpha walked down the ramp and motioned Straka to her feet. She tried to stand but lacked the strength.

  “Get up,” Alpha said.

  “I can’t,” she said bitterly.

  Alpha bent down and lifted the woman to her feet. Straka swayed uncertainly, then started to crumple to the deck as her legs gave out. Alpha caught her before she hit.

  “You are close to death?” Alpha said.

  Straka eyed him warily. “Yes,” she said. “Thanks to you.”

  Alpha turned to his fellow Habers and communicated with them through his eyes. Straka watched the display with rapt attention, fascinated and enchanted by the beauty and grace of those crystalline eyes, fearful of their potential power.

  “They will carry you,” Alpha said.

  The bay door opened and she watched the outside world appear before her. They were on the edge of the city, the glittering buildings she’d seen on the distant horizon from the compound. Up close, the buildings were magnificent.

  She knew now where they were taking her. After all she and the crew had been through, she was going to see Markos. Only now she was in no rush. She would have to talk to the mutated Terran on his own terms, and she didn’t relish that.

  One of the Habers picked her up in his arms and leaped down from the ship. They waited for the rest of them to join up, then started off for the inner city.

  Habers lined the streets, silently watching Straka being carried. Straka watched back, amazed at how different they all looked. All of their eyes radiated the same soft green, though. There were some the size of midgets, some the size of Jackson. Not one of them had the same colored outer covering that Alpha and his crew had, though. Some of them, a few scattered along the side of the road, had rainbow-hued coverings, while some were covered with swirls of pastels running over their bodies in gentle designs.

  She observed what she could, but drew no conclusions about them or their way of life. She couldn’t possibly divine enough information just by observing, so she stopped trying to figure them out. She saw things she didn’t understand and took them in stride.

  They stopped before a building. “Can you stand?” Alpha asked.

  “I’ll try.”

  The Haber holding Straka gently lowered her to the ground. Straka leaned against the creature to steady herself and test her legs. Her knees buckled and she felt herself falling. The Haber caught her before she reached the ground.

  “Give her to me,” Alpha said.

  The Haber moved to one side to let Alpha slip his arm around Straka’s waist. Alpha gripped her tightly and s
tarted through the arch into the building. Straka glanced behind and saw that no one was following.

  “Is this where he is?” she asked.

  “You will see,” Alpha said.

  He helped her through the tubular corridors. The one they took emptied into a large room. One wall was lined with row after row of rock crystals, each one about the size of her fist. One wall had two windows. The other two had doorways cut into them. There were translucent pieces of furniture, and by their size and placement she assumed they were chairs. Alpha set her down on one of them. It was hard and uncomfortable beneath her. A small, old gray Haber stood in a corner of the room where the windows and the crystals met, silently watching. It was not Markos.

  “Hi,” she said as calmly as she could. Her heart pounded against her chest.

  The alien flashed green, and she threw her arm across her eyes as if shielding them from a laser blast. She immediately felt foolish for having done that. The alien had probably been saying hello, trying to be friendly. This was no way to open negotiations.

  “Would you happen to have any water?” she asked.

  The old Haber pushed himself away from the wall and walked out of the room. Straka sat quietly, waiting for Markos to appear. The chair was hard on her hips. She wondered how the crew was doing without her there to keep them off each other’s backs. She wondered if the old Haber would bring her some water.

  She caught a flash of orange out of the corner of her eye and turned to see what it was.

  Markos stood in the doorway. There was no mistaking that freakish skin coloring, the orange and greens, the reds and blues, the spotting and coloring of a mendil, the parody of the human form, the ugly reminder of seeing a being who had once been human. His face, unlike all other Haber faces, had the distinct symmetry of a human face. The eyes were spread out over a much larger area, and the nose was just a small, irregular bump on his face, but the structure was close enough to be recognizable.

  Straka could see into Markos’s body, beneath a layer of skin, see fluids oozing through his system, see the perversion of muscles that lay there.

  Markos.

  At last. She was within reach of what she’d risked everything for, what she’d traveled across the Galaxy for. But those things she wanted no longer seemed as important as they once had, and she found herself thinking of the men’s welfare, concerned about getting them out of the death trap she’d walked them into, about getting the Paladin back.

  “You don’t look well,” Markos said.

  Straka recoiled at the sound of his voice. She’d forgotten how ugly it was. Even the Habers had nicer, more mellifluous voices than Markos, though they never really sounded human. It sounded like it had been dredged up from the deep, hidden corner of a twisted soul, from the bottom of a murky ocean. She wanted to tell him to clear his throat.

  “I’m not well,” she said. “Nor are the rest of your crewmates.”

  “Your crewmates,” Markos corrected. “My ex-crewmates. Yes, I knew you would bring that up. Just remember, Cathy—they’re not my crewmates, my brothers, or even of my race anymore. I feel no kinship toward them. Or to you.

  “You should never have come here. You weren’t invited. You inadvertently walked into something you know nothing about.” Markos stopped as the Old One returned.

  The Old One walked directly to Straka’s side holding a clear container that held a few sips of clear liquid. Straka sniffed it, detected no scent, and tasted it carefully. It was water. She nodded her thanks and took a swallow of it greedily, letting it cut through the layer of parched tissue lining her mouth and throat. Her stomach hurt.

  She breathed raggedly a few times, overwhelmed by the refreshing drink, staring into the container as if searching for an answer to her problems in its bottom.

  The subject had to be broached, and she decided it would be best to tackle the most difficult aspect of it first.

  “You’ve got to help us,” she said.

  “I do? Why?”

  She looked at Markos, wiping her parched lips with the back of a dirt-encrusted hand. “If you don’t, we’ll die.”

  Markos shook his head, then said, “I’m sorry about that. I truly am. But there’s nothing I can do.”

  “There’s nothing you can do, or there’s nothing you will do?” she asked.

  “Either way.”

  “Then I take it you’re not a prisoner here?”

  Markos’s mouth changed shape, and she thought she saw the remnant of a Terran facial expression—a smile. “No, I’m not a prisoner.”

  “Then why won’t you help us?”

  “A good question, Cathy. Unfortunately the answer is quite complex.”

  “Too complex for a simple Terran like me to understand, huh?” she said.

  “Don’t push it, Cathy. I’ll explain what has to be explained. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  She suppressed her rising anger and frustration. She knew that if she let her emotions get the better of her, so would Markos. She needed to remain in control as much as possible. “Are you going to let me go back to the men?”

  “Eventually.”

  Straka nodded. “All right. What do you want from me? Why did you send for me?”

  “I need to know why you’re here.”

  Straka shrugged, then slowly finished off the water. It was good, like a razor-sharp, ice-cold blade cutting through her body, slicing its way down her throat. She held up the container to the old Haber. “Could I have some more?”

  A violent burst of nearly pure-white light pulsed from Markos’s face and filled Straka with instant fear.

  “The Haber you just addressed is not a house servant nor a messenger. Don’t treat him like one. If you want something, ask me for it. Understand?”

  Straka nodded, still stunned by Markos’s outburst.

  “You don’t need any more water to talk.”

  She glared at him. “All right. No more water. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I’ve asked you once. What are you doing in this solar system?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “You found me. Why were you looking?”

  “We were afraid for you. You were one of us, or don’t you remember?” Straka asked, trying to put some bitterness into her voice. “With Van Pelt dead we thought you might join up with us. We thought you might have been a prisoner.”

  “I remember, all right. But I don’t buy it. Give me some credit. That sounds like something Van Pelt would have said. What’s the real reason you came here? What did you expect to find? Riches? Power? What?”

  Straka shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it’s not important anymore. What’s important is that we’re here, and we’re going to die unless you do something to help us.”

  “You’ll get no help from me until I find out what you’re doing here.”

  “Listen, Markos, Maxwell is as close to death as you can get. Kominski is off the deep end. Jackson and McGowen have been—”

  “The reason, Cathy! The reason!”

  “Tell me what you plan to do with us first. Are you just going to let us die?”

  Markos leaned forward in his chair, and she looked at him long and hard, wishing she could read something in that face, see some sign of concern, of worry, or pleasure or pain. Anything would have helped.

  “I’ve been thinking about that. It all depends on what happens here today. How much you choose to cooperate. But you haven’t been so inclined.”

  “Then there is something I can say or do to persuade you to help us?”

  Markos moved his mouth into a perverted smile again. “There may be.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just tell me why you and the crew chased me from Tau Ceti to Alpha Indi. That’s an awfully long distance for the cavalry to come to my rescue, Cathy. Why make the trip? Did NASA 2 send you? Are you acting on their orders?”

  Straka stared at the floor and gnashed her teeth. How could she tell him now? It all seemed so foolish.
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  “Straka? You’re going to tell me sooner or later.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Only if it has to be.”

  What to tell him? she thought. I’m going to have to tell him something. But what? The truth?

  Markos’s eyes pulsed in time to Straka’s heartbeat.

  “There are methods I can use for getting at the truth, Cathy. A few flashes from my eyes will do it. Like it did to Van Pelt. You can see that I’m not too good at controlling Terrans with my eyes, but the choice is yours. I’m willing to take the chance.”

  With my life, she thought. Of course he’d be willing. “Your own truth serum,” she said bitterly.

  “Would you prefer bamboo shoots under your fingernails? Oh, sorry, no bamboo on Aurianta. I’m sure we could find a suitable substitute.”

  “Humor, Markos? At a time like this?”

  “Like what?” Markos demanded. “You’re stalling. I’ll give you one minute to decide.”

  Straka knew now that no amount of lying would stop Markos from getting what he wanted. Her existence on Aurianta was precarious, with one foot in the grave. But she clung to the life she had, in no rush to spend her last few hours as a brain-wipe courtesy of Markos’s eyes.

  “All right,” she said. “No need for that kind of pressure. I’ll tell you what you want to know. I suppose once I’ve done that, you’ll kill us all.”

  “Perhaps,” Markos said. “After I hear the reason for your coming here, we’ll talk about your future. If you have one.”

  Straka started at the beginning, at the time when she’d assisted Markos on the preliminary physiological tests and examinations on the Habers. She voiced her belief that the Habers were immortal and then explained why she had lied to the crew and had talked them into chasing Markos to Alpha Indi.

  “Incredible, Cathy. All this way, all this trouble, just for a few extra years of life. I never thought you’d deceive the crew like that. Have they figured any of it out yet?”

  Straka shook her head.

  “What about NASA 2?”

  “No. They don’t know anything at all.”