by West, Shay
Feeror and Voilor were the first to spot the farmstead. They ran back to the others on feet so quiet that the two warriors startled Gwen when they crept on her right. For all the noise they had made not five minutes before, the Volgons did not make a single sound as they approached the farm.
Brok and Saemus took the lead as they approached the farmstead. Brok frowned. The corn stood tall in the fields and the fruit trees were full to bursting. It was too late in the season for crops in the field. They should have been brought in, or at the very least, the men of the farm should have been hard at work harvesting.
Something was wrong.
Brok's senses were on alert, and he gestured to the others to stay where they were. He and Saemus crept toward the modest two-story house. There was no sound but for the birds. There should have been cows lowing, horses neighing, chickens clucking, and many other noises that indicated a working farm. Brok reached out with the power, trying to sense if there were any signs of life.
“Stay here. I'm going in.” Brok crept up the stairs without looking to see if Saemus obeyed his order. The front door was wide open so Brok slowly walked inside. He sucked in a breath at the stench emanating from the home. His arms exploded in goose pimples, and he had to force his feet to keep moving.
The home looked like the family had simply stepped out for a moment, with every intention of returning. There was nothing out of place, nothing broken. The only thing that was amiss was the rotten food in the kitchen. Flies buzzed over the decomposing meat and vegetables. Nausea struck Brok as he observed maggots crawling all over the rotten meat.
Brok hurriedly searched the small farmhouse for signs of the people who lived there. The beds were all made, and the clothing was still placed neatly in dresser drawers. Brok emerged into the back yard through a door in the kitchen. The first thing he noticed was the dead vegetables in the garden. This family has been gone for a long while. Overripe tomatoes and pumpkins lay on the ground, too heavy for their stems to keep them aloft. Insects crawled over every surface, chewing holes into the plants and their bounty.
The smell was worse in the yard. Underneath the stench of rotten plant life, Brok could sense the sickeningly sweet smell of dead flesh.
Brok's eyes scanned the rest of the yard, his senses stretched to their limit. There was laundry still on the line. It was splattered with bird droppings and dirt. To the right of the clothesline was the chicken coop. All of the birds were dead, their bodies consisting of nothing more than bones and feathers.
Something is very wrong here.
A scream pierced the quiet of the farm, and Brok's heart leapt into his throat. He dashed to the side of the house. He saw Keera with her hands over her mouth, looking at something on the ground. Saemus stood next to Kaelin, who was dry heaving and sobbing. Jon stood stone-faced, staring at whatever was on the ground. Brok looked down and closed his eyes in a silent prayer to the good Spirits.
The small skull was only half buried in the soil. One empty eye-socket peered from the ground and half of the mouth was open in a silent scream. A tiny hand reached up through the dirt and debris, as if trying to hold onto life. Brok could see a large area where the ground had been disturbed and shuddered when he realized who must be buried there.
Why? Who would kill this family and leave them half-buried? Brok jumped as a voice spoke from his left.
“What has happened here?” Gerok asked.
“I don't know,” Brok said slowly.
The Volgons entered the farmhouse and managed to find clothing enough for all of them to wear. They had felt vulnerable wandering about the countryside naked. The clothing they found did nothing to alleviate that feeling. It was only once they had rummaged through the kitchen and found several knives that they felt a little better. When the Astrans dropped the invisibility shield, they had to bite back snorts of laughter at what the Volgons wore.
The Volgons were dressed in scraps of clothing taken from both the man and woman. They had simply taken the clothing they'd found and tried to cover their bodies. The result was a hodge-podge of shirts with sleeves torn out to fit the muscular arms of the male Volgons and trousers that were much too short for both men and women. Kyron had taken one of the skirts that had belonged to the wife and had managed to tug it on over his head so that the waist was tied around his broad chest. The sight of his hairy, muscular legs sticking out from beneath a light blue skirt was just too much for the Astrans.
Saemus and Jon were holding on to each other as they doubled over in hysterics. The girls giggled into their hands at the sight of Kyron wearing the goodwife's skirt. Even Master Brok was snorting laughter as he tried to maintain his composure.
“What's so funny?” Voilor asked menacingly.
Brok tried to answer, but at seeing the man's arms bulging from the goodwife's lacy blouse, he doubled over in laughter. By this time, Saemus and Jon were on the ground, tears running down their faces.
The Volgons continued to become more and more agitated until Gwen finally managed to choke out a brief explanation as to the nature of clothing being made for specific sexes.
Gwen pointed at Kyron. “You're wearing clothing that belongs to a woman. It is a skirt and is worn around the waist.” Gwen demonstrated with gestures.
“And the clothing is much too small for you. The trousers should fall all the way to the ground,” Keera said, still breathless.
“How were we supposed to know?” Gerok threw up his hands. “These people did not have any clothing that resembled your robes. On Volgon, males and females wear the same armor. We do not have special clothing for each sex.”
“We will have to think of something. If you turn up in Enisae wearing this mess, people will wonder if you have taken leave of your senses,” Brok said. He ordered Saemus and Jon to find all of the clothing that had belonged to the farmer and sent the girls to find all of the clothing that had belonged to the wife. Gwen even managed to find a sewing kit. In short order, the Astrans managed to piece together clothing that would suffice until larger garments could be found.
“Let us make for Enisae. We will camp along the way. We must proceed with caution. Those who did this could be nearby,” Brok warned.
Master Brok led the group away from the farm and toward Enisae. No one spoke. The Astrans were lost in thought, wondering who could have killed the family at the farm. The Volgons were silent and watchful, their keen senses alert for any danger. The Astrans walked along the periphery of the group, their power spread before them, sensing the countryside. The only life they were able to detect was that of the wild game that lived in the area.
They passed several more homesteads and farms, but these were merely deserted. There was no sign of any bodies. Several cows and a flock of chickens could be seen wandering outside their enclosures. Brok surmised that the people on these farms had had advance warning and had chosen to flee the area. The Volgons found evidence of their tracks.
They led straight to Enisae.
Perhaps there we will find some answers. Brok let the group stop for a rest and a bite to eat. The Chosen showed the Volgons which plants were edible and which were to be avoided. The Volgons could not keep their eyes still for more than a few moments. Their tough façade crumbled when they saw a new plant, flower, tree, or animal. Seelyr and Moylir acted like two young girls, giggling and squealing when they touched a soft blade of tufted grass or smelled the sweet scent of a wild rose. Feeror, Kyron, and Voilor kept their enthusiasm a little more in check.
“I cannot imagine what it must be like to live in a world such as this,” Seelyr said wistfully. She played absent-mindedly with her braid. Kaelin and Gwen had shown the Volgon women how to braid their hair. Volgons did not have hair, and the presence of it in such large quantities was distracting and tended to get in their way.
“So what do you look like? On your home world I mean,” Keera asked while they rested.
“It will be hard to explain, little one,” Moylir said.
Keera ha
ted that the Volgons called all of the girls little one. At first glance, the Volgon women looked to be no more than twenty name days. But they possessed an air of maturity and wisdom that made them seem much older. “Well, you can at least try to explain it to us.”
“Our skin is scaly and rough, which affords us some protection against cuts and abrasions.”
Just then, their talk was interrupted by a ring-necked lizard that had run across the dirt and up the side of a large rock. It sat facing the girls, head tilted to one side, tongue tasting the air for any sign of danger. When Seelyr moved to touch it, it hissed and began to push its upper body up and down on its spindly arms.
“How extraordinary! Volgons look like this creature, except that we are much larger and walk on two legs. The skin is very much the same, though not as colorful. And we have larger teeth that jut out of our mouths,” Moylir said.
The Astran Chosen stared at the Volgon women, trying to picture large two-legged lizards with big teeth. Their horror must have shown on their faces because the Volgon women laughed.
“It's not as bad as it sounds. Our thick, scaly skin protects us when we fight. Our claws and fangs make formidable weapons. Our eyes can see well in pitch darkness and this often gives us the advantage,” Seelyr said proudly. “This body is weak and vulnerable. Your people don't even wear armor. It's frightening for us to be in this form. If we are attacked, how are we to keep from being injured?”
“There is no fighting on Astra. We have no need to wear armor,” Keera said, rolling her eyes.
Moylir fixed her with a level gaze. “Tell that to the family buried at the farm.”
KROMIN
--WE CAN SENSE NOTHING from you.
The other clones nodded in agreement. The magic of the Astrans had successfully blocked the thoughts of the Earth Chosen, who stood on shaky legs next to the portal still outlined on the grey metal wall.
--Can you hear this? Robert Marshall sent the thought out to all of the clones. Every fiber of his being cried out that not using his mouth to speak was wrong. His brain wanted to send a signal to a mouth and a tongue and vocal cords, and that instinct fought with the alien brain he now possessed. He held his hands up, marveling at the long grey limbs and fingers. All of the aliens were identical, from their round, smooth heads to their black almond-shaped eyes, to their tall, lean bodies. It was a little disconcerting to see his comrades and yet have no idea who was who just by looking at them.
--We can still hear your thoughts, even those you call private. It is your emotional noise that we cannot detect.
--Emotional noise? asked Martha Stevens of the Kromin standing closest to her.
--To us, the emotions running through your brain are a loud and continuous noise. It is sometimes difficult to filter through the clamor to hear the thoughts you wish to convey. I am curious; how do you function with all of that turbulence in your head?
Martha shrugged. --It is not something we think about. Our emotions are as much a part of us as our limbs. They are there all of the time.
--Do they not cause distractions?
--Sometimes. Fear can give one pause and cause one to hesitate in a crucial moment. Sadness can overwhelm and cripple us. But most of the time, we forge on despite our emotions. And they are not always bad. Feelings of joy, love, triumph, courage; these are all emotions that bring happiness.
Mirka sent two of her Chosen out to find designation badges for the Earth Chosen and Forka to wear. While their emotions may have been hidden, they would bring attention to themselves if they were seen walking the corridors without a designation badge.
--This world is so strange and surreal. Forka touched the surfaces of the slick, grey walls and the cool metal tables with long, slender fingers.
The Earth Chosen stared at their new forms in the shiny metal walls and touched their strange faces. Their skin felt dry and rough. The only one that did not seem to take any interest in observing his new form was Sloan. He stood alone, lean arms crossed over his thin, bony, grey chest, eyes staring into space.
Forka could not tell which of his Chosen were which. Unlike Gentra, they did not retain their familiar human features on this planet.
--I am curious. If your kind is aware of other worlds and other life forms, why do we have to block our emotions? Are you afraid the Kromins will hurt us? Robert asked.
Mirka hesitated before answering. --The Kromins wouldn't knowingly hurt you. The research clones study other worlds and bring the life forms back here for study. If they knew you were from another planet, they would want to study you.
--That doesn't sound dangerous.
--The Kromin research experts would place you in a container barely large enough for you to fit in. They would perform a variety of experiments on your brain, since you have an ability we don't have: to feel emotions.
Robert swallowed hard. –Would it hurt?
Mirka shrugged. --I don't know. But it's a distraction we can't afford. There's no telling when they would let you go.
--We will do our best to blend in.
The two clones sent to find designation badges returned. They passed the badges around to the Earth Chosen and their Guardian. The Kromins had to show them how to activate the adhesive by touching a tiny bump in the upper left corner.
--When you need to remove the badge, press this button. Number 4 pointed to a button in the bottom left corner.
Robert frowned. --I thought clones had to wear the badge at all times.
--We take them off during our daily cleansing.
--What do these symbols and numbers stand for?
--The first symbol is the city in which a clone works, the second symbol denotes what the clone's profession is, and the numbers are assigned to each clone as they emerge from the birthing chamber.
--Birthing chamber? If Brent had had eyebrows, they would have been raised to his hairline.
--Perhaps we can visit one of the birthing chambers later. For now, I want to show you more of this planet. Mirka wasn't certain the Earth Chosen were ready to handle the sight of the birthing chamber.
Mirka could not help but hold her breath as they emerged from storeroom 9 and walked toward the main hangar bay. She trusted her Chosen and knew that if they had been able to detect even the slightest emotion from any of the Earth Chosen, they would have said something. She breathed a sigh of relief when a passing clone merely nodded in their direction, showing no sign that it guessed that half of the Kromins walking down the hallway were in fact from another planet.
--How do Kromins keep warm when it gets cold if they do not wear clothes? Martha asked.
--All buildings and travel pods are climate-controlled. Number 5 answered Martha in its usual bland monotone.
--Climate-controlled? Mark could not make sense of the images the clones sent through their telepathic link.
-- Computers keep the temperature at 42.2°C at all times. This is the optimal temperature for Kromin metabolism.
The Earth Chosen simply stared at the Kromin clones. They had only a partial understanding of what the Kromins had told them, but from what they did understand, it sounded like nothing short of a miracle.
Forka looked at his Earth Chosen and vowed to tell them all he knew of the time before the Changes on their planet. They deserved to know that humans had once possessed technology that had allowed them to achieve so much. Perhaps humans will one day wield great technological power once again. And perhaps this time they will use that power wisely.
The group made it to the main hangar bay without incident. The bay was enormous, stretching well over two thousand feet. There were hundreds of doors, many of which had a travel pod lined up in front. Towers rose above their heads, connected by metal barricades that housed even more travel pods. The towers were manned by several clones who coordinated the landing and take-off of the endless parade of travel pods.
The Earth Chosen and their Guardian stood with their arms hanging at their sides. They glanced everywhere at once, takin
g in all of the strange and frightening sites. Sloan wandered close to his fellow Chosen, unwilling to be alone in this bizarre place.
Mirka led them to a large travel pod. The Kromin clones took the lead, followed closely by the Earthmen. Mirka communicated with the tower that she was taking the group on an errand to a nearby building. The clone in the tower told her that she would be able to depart in a few moments. She entered the travel pod and took the pilot's seat. Clone number 3 took the co-pilot seat. Mirka expertly punched buttons, readying the pod for departure. She looked over her shoulder and found that the Earthmen were fastened into the seats. Though their masked emotions did not show it, their body language screamed that they were nervous.
Mirka received the telepathic signal that she was cleared for departure. She punched a button, and the travel pod sped toward the shielded bay door and passed through into the wild Kromin atmosphere.
--I must say, this is all a bit…overwhelming. Brad Phillips conveyed. His original thought was frightening, but he realized that he wasn't afraid. It was more like he was on sensory overload and needed a break to let it all sink in.
--If you think this is overwhelming, just wait. Mirka took the travel pod in a slow, lazy downward spiral.
--Do we have to do the circular bit? Brent groaned.
Mirka smirked and stopped the travel pod just below the thickest of the clouds. She punched buttons that would allow the craft to hover. Mirka kept her eyes glued to the viewscreen, watching the swirling clouds. --Keep an eye on the viewscreen. I am hoping we can catch a glimpse of the planet's liquid surface.
--Liquid surface? What kind of planet is this? Martha was ready to return home, to familiar ground. Everything about this planet was so foreign and alien that nothing felt right.
Just then, a break in the clouds offered the Earth Chosen and their Guardian a brief look at the molten surface of Kromin, sending up jets of scalding liquid high into the atmosphere, though not high enough to touch the travel pod.
