The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

  He led Falken across the square, and they walked between two of the bunkhouses. On the far side of the buildings, Falken found himself facing an open structure the size of several bunkhouses. The walls and roof were built like a cage, with interlocking wooden slats spread apart so as to let in light and air. As Falken watched, a man wheeled a wooden barrow out a side door in the cage, and proceeded to push it toward the fields.

  “Fertilizer duty,” Saltari said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Hm?” Falken asked.

  The doctor pointed up, and Falken realized there were a number of native trees planted within the barn – and high in the branches near the cage’s roof sat hundreds of the strange, monkey-like creatures, their blue-gray fur rippling in the slight breeze.

  “I saw them before, in the trees near the facility. What are they?” Falken asked.

  “Come and see.” Saltari pushed the door to the barn open, pausing to let Falken join him inside a small antechamber. He ensured the outer door was locked, picked up a small bucket of grains, and then opened the inner door, allowing them to step inside the huge cage. Saltari walked over to the nearest tree, scooped a handful of grains from his bucket, and held it near one of the lower branches. He gave a low whistle. Several of the creatures raised their heads, and two bounded down the branches a moment later, stopping near the two men before cautiously reaching out to pilfer grains from Saltari’s outstretched hand.

  “These are blue-balls,” Saltari said, with some distaste. “I didn’t name them. It’s a crude, silly name. Yes, they’re blue, and they look like little balls when they hunch over like that … but I would have named them something much more interesting.”

  “Is that fur?”

  “No, feathers,” Saltari said. “Miniaturized, but structurally very similar to the feathers found on your average avian back on Earth.”

  “They’re birds?”

  “No-o … not really. I’m not sure they would fit into Earth’s animal kingdom taxonomy very well. They have feathers and tails, as you can see, but their eyes are multi-faceted, like an insect’s … and then of course, they give birth to live young. They’re strange little things. But quite tasty, once you get used to them.”

  “You eat them?” Falken asked, taken aback.

  “Yes. We breed them and eat them. What do you think was the base for that broth you drank this morning? It was not, as the mayor claimed, urine.” He caught Falken grimacing with distaste. “You may not like the idea of eating aliens, but I assure you, when you are hungry and your body is demanding something high in protein, you will be more than happy to have a nice grilled blue-ball steak.”

  “I think I ate some already back at the facility,” Falken guessed.

  “More than likely,” Saltari agreed. “Archos and his men eat what we eat.” Falken detected a hint of anger in the old man’s tone, but he decided not to inquire about it.

  The two blue-balls, having had their fill of grain, bounded back up into the branches above, twirling around the trunk with tails flying behind them.

  “Now,” Saltari said. “You’ve seen the colony. You have a decision to make.”

  “Whether to stay,” Falken said.

  “Indeed. If you stay, you would have food and shelter, but you would need to abide by our rules.”

  “What are the rules?”

  “In essence, the same as the laws on Earth, though much simpler. Do no harm. No stealing, no fighting, no killing. No exceptions – violators are expelled. And of course, everyone must do their assigned work,” Saltari finished.

  “What work?”

  “Whatever is needed. It could be farming, or construction … and it will vary, to keep things from becoming too repetitive. Although … I have been lobbying Mayor Luo for a part-time assistant for months now, once the harvest is in. Perhaps he’ll finally agree. Did you go to college?”

  “I didn’t graduate,” Falken said.

  Saltari clucked his tongue. “What did you study?”

  “Some physical therapy and sports medicine.”

  The old man brightened up. “That could work. Did you take biology?”

  “I think I failed biology,” Falken admitted.

  “Well, don’t tell the mayor that,” Saltari said, wagging his finger at Falken.

  “What are my options if I leave?”

  Saltari shrugged. “We hear rumors of inmates fending for themselves out in the woods on their own, but … you better be good at climbing trees. Blue-balls are not easy prey to hunt. And as you know, there isn’t much by way of local flora that isn’t toxic. Your only real option is to go back to the facility.”

  Chapter 13

  They found Mayor Luo digging potatoes with a dozen other inmates in the back fields. He stood up when they approached, and wiped the sweat from his brow with a dirt-streaked forearm.

  “So?” he asked.

  “I’d like to stay,” Falken said.

  “Okay,” the mayor said, and shook Falken’s hand. “Is he strong enough to work yet?” he asked Saltari.

  The doctor eyed Falken’s bulk. “He’s certainly stronger. But I think tomorrow would be best.”

  “You can stay in the infirmary until the new bunkhouse is completed,” Luo told Falken. “Salty will bring you to breakfast tomorrow morning, and I’ll have a work assignment for you then.”

  “Okay,” Falken agreed.

  “I was hoping that Mr. Falken could be spared to help me with my studies. From time to time,” Saltari suggested.

  Luo frowned. “The assistant thing again?”

  “I’m getting old, Luo. I can’t do the things I used to. And he studied sports medicine in college,” Saltari said.

  Luo chewed on his cheek. “The harvest is still being brought in at this point. We’ll need him to pitch in for another couple weeks or so to help, but after that – you can have him two days a week.”

  “Thank you,” Saltari said.

  Falken heard the whine of an electric engine, and turned to see two trucks, like the ones he had seen at the facility, driving through the fields toward the center of the colony.

  “Shit,” Luo said. He pointed at Falken. “Keep him out of the way, Salty. I don’t want to stir anything up.”

  Saltari nodded. Luo hurried off across the fields, heading for the trucks.

  “Are those our trucks?” Falken asked.

  “No,” Saltari said. “We don’t have trucks. Those belong to Archos and his men.”

  “Are they looking for me?”

  “Possibly,” Saltari said. “Though more likely they are merely here on their weekly grocery run.”

  “What do you mean?” Falken asked.

  Saltari crossed his arms. “Did you see any evidence of farming at the facility? Were they tending their own herd of blue-balls, or growing any crops?”

  “I don’t think so,” Falken said.

  “No. They don’t bother, because they can simply come here and profit from our hard work.”

  “They steal food from us?”

  “Archos would call it ‘taxation.’ Compensation for protecting us.”

  “Protecting us from what?” Falken asked.

  “From him. We give him food, and in return, he keeps his men from killing us.”

  Falken frowned. “Why don’t you build a fence, or a wall or something?”

  “Because then they would build a ladder. A wall would only anger them, and incite them to violence.”

  “So fight them,” Falken suggested.

  Saltari shook his head, sighing. “No. That mode of thinking is precisely why the mayor asked me to keep you here, out of the way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Luo wasn’t worried they would see you and try to capture you again. He was worried you would get angry at them, and start a fight.”

  “If they’re stealing and threatening you, why don’t you fight to stop it?”

  “Because fighting might be disastrous. There are more of us, but his men are stron
ger, more experienced fighters. They hold the facility, which is largely impenetrable, and they have vehicles, and stun weapons. A war between the two factions would lead to a lot of dead inmates, and many more injured ones. And it could kill us all, indirectly. Archos, as you know, has a tenuous grip on sanity. What if he decided to set fire to our crops? We’d all starve to death. No – fighting is not the answer. We choose not to fight them because that’s what’s best for the colony. Archos and his men depend on us – they need us to survive. And that gives us power over them.”

  Falken watched as, in the distance, Archos’ men hopped off the trucks, swinging the cargo doors open. A dozen colony residents approached the trucks pushing wheelbarrows of vegetables. “It’s not fair.”

  Saltari laughed bitterly. “Fairness is a luxury. Oz has no room for such things.” He turned as another inmate hurried over to them.

  “Doc?”

  “What is it?” Saltari asked.

  “Your patient’s awake,” the man reported.

  “Well, that is good news,” Saltari said. “Come on, Falken.”

  *

  The man with the concussion was sitting up on his pallet when they entered the infirmary, holding his head in his hands.

  “Easy now,” Saltari urged him, hurrying over to the man’s side. “Just take it easy.”

  “I tried to stand,” the man said, softly.

  “Well, don’t,” Saltari said. “You’re liable to be a bit woozy, you’ve been lying down for the past week.”

  “A week?” the man asked.

  Falken squatted down next to Saltari. His eyes were still adjusting to the dim cabin, but under the man’s cloth-wrapped head, the face was one he recognized.

  The librarian! From the landing site …

  “Yes, you’ve been here over a week now. I’m Saltari, and this is my assistant, Falken. What’s your name?”

  “Sef. Sef Weaver. What happened to me?”

  “We don’t know—” Saltari began.

  “I know,” Falken said. “One of the other inmates hit you over the head with a board. I saw it happen.”

  I saw what was going to happen, too. Maybe I could have stopped it from happening …

  “Still hurts,” Weaver said, touching the bandage gingerly. “Do you have any painkillers?”

  “Ah, no,” Saltari said. “We don’t have any medicine at all. But you may take comfort in the old adage that ‘pain builds character.’ ”

  Weaver cracked a wry smile. “I always liked: ‘pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.’ Used to tell my kids that.” A shadow passed over his face. “Do you have a vidscreen? I need to call someone back on Earth.”

  Saltari shook his head. “No. I’m sorry to tell you, but … New Oz is not what you were led to believe. There’s no vidscreen terminal. We have no contact with Earth. And … there’s no way to get back to Earth, either. No space elevator, no ships.”

  “Do we get any news from Earth? Anything at all?”

  “No.”

  Falken saw Weaver’s face fall. He bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes. “My kids …”

  Saltari squeezed Weaver’s shoulder. “I had a daughter. I miss her, too. It would be nice to talk to her again, after all these years.”

  “No,” Weaver said. “You don’t understand. My kids were kidnapped, and my wife, Elize, too. I was looking for them, trying to save them from whoever had taken them. But we didn’t find them. And then, after a week of searching, they arrested me, and sent me here.”

  Saltari raised an eyebrow. “They convicted you for a crime you didn’t commit?”

  Weaver nodded. “Yes. They said I murdered them, but … that’s my family!” He shuddered involuntarily. “I would never … how could anyone do such a thing?”

  Saltari shook his head. “There are men here who have done that, and worse.” He crossed his arms. “And many more who, like you, claim they are innocent.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Weaver sighed. “My father-in-law has always had a grudge against me. He abused my wife, when she was little, and he’s always resented me for saving her, for taking her away from him. They put him on the stand, and he lied – he made up a story because he wanted to see me suffer. But it doesn’t matter. I couldn’t convince the jury, and I’m not going to try to convince you. All I care about is finding them, making sure they’re safe.”

  “Maybe someone’s still looking for them, back home,” Falken suggested.

  Weaver shook his head and sobbed, his voice cracking. “The police think I killed them; they stopped searching for them once I was arrested. My children, Elize … they might still be alive, but no one’s trying to help them.”

  Saltari frowned, and glanced over at Falken, who shook his head silently. “I believe you,” Falken said, quietly.

  “I’ve heard a lot of men claim innocence over the years,” Saltari said. “But I’ve never really believed them. Not until now.”

  “It doesn’t matter … I don’t care about being stuck here, wrongfully or not. I’d stay here forever if it meant they were safe.” Weaver sniffed, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jumpsuit. Then he frowned. “Do you have my supply kit? The satchel they gave us?”

  “No,” Saltari said. “It wasn’t on you when they brought you in. Why?”

  “My album,” Weaver choked, and a fresh tear rolled down his cheek.

  Falken reached into his pocket and took out the leather-bound wallet, holding it out to Weaver. “I … found it. When the guy busted your head open. I don’t know why I took it—”

  Weaver gasped, and then Falken was surprised to find the smaller man suddenly leaning forward, wrapping him in a hug.

  “Thank you. Thank you,” Weaver breathed.

  Falken frowned – the sudden physical contact with another human being, one who wasn’t fighting him, startled him. He tensed up at first, and then, slowly, felt himself relax, as Weaver cried into his shoulder. Awkwardly, he patted the smaller man on the back, and felt a rush of warm well-being.

  First time I’ve helped someone, first time I’ve done some good in … ages.

  Weaver straightened up, sniffing. “Sorry about that,” he told Falken.

  “No, its fine,” Falken said. “The uh, the screen’s cracked, though.”

  Weaver opened the album and turned it on, and a sad smile crossed his face. “It still works. That’s enough.”

  *

  Falken spent the remainder of the day resting, while Weaver slept and Saltari worked in his study. At dinnertime, he followed Saltari over to the Great Hall, along with the rest of the colony’s inmates. The sun was setting over the forest, slipping toward the trees in a hue so red it was almost purple. The sight of it unsettled Falken – he had always liked sunsets back on Earth, but between the strange color and the three moons he could see, it reinforced just how far from home he was.

  In the Great Hall, he and Saltari stood in line behind the other inmates, waiting to be served. The men looked tired from a long day’s work in the fields, and most ate in silence. The food was hot, and filling, but Falken found it somewhat bland, and said as much to Saltari.

  “We don’t have seasonings to cook with,” Saltari explained. “No salt or pepper. And not much by the way of fats, either – blue-balls are fairly lean, and they don’t make milk that we could turn into butter.” He took another bite, shrugging. “Flavor is just another luxury that Oz doesn’t have.”

  After dinner, they crossed back to the infirmary with a tray of broth and rolls for Weaver, who thanked them, and ate quietly, sitting up on his pallet. Then Saltari extinguished the room’s lone candle, and lay down on a pallet that he unrolled in his study area. Falken and Weaver lay down on their own pallets in the infirmary section.

  After a day of resting, Falken found it hard to fall asleep, and he lay awake for some time, staring up at the ceiling. In the darkness, he could hear Weaver crying quietly.

  “You’ll find a way,” he heard Weaver whisper to himself, ov
er and over. “You have to find a way.”

  A way? Falken thought. He shook his head in the darkness, frowning. There’s no way out.

  Chapter 14

  Falken spent five days in the fields, helping bring in the harvest. The work was repetitive and back-breaking – just as exhausting as his training sessions had been back on Earth, when preparing for a big fight. But on the sixth day, Mayor Luo reviewed his assignments list, and told Falken to report to Saltari for the day.

  Falken found the old doctor in his study, cutting a piece off of a small plant in a pot. Another man sat at one of Saltari’s benches, puzzling over a paper schematic of some kind and rubbing at his bald scalp absentmindedly. He was black, and wore a battered pair of glasses with a cracked lens.

  Saltari saw Falken looking at the newcomer, and stood up. “Have you met Ngobe?”

  “No.” Falken shook his head.

  The black man looked up suddenly, seeing Falken for the first time. He held out his hand and smiled. “You must be Falken.”

  “Ng …?” Falken stuttered.

  “Ngobe,” he said, smiling. “It’s hard. You’ll get it.”

  “Ngobe is a professor of astrophysics,” Saltari said.

  “Was,” Ngobe said. “Until I slept with one of my students, got fired, and set fire to the physics department in a fit of drunken lunacy.” Ngobe smiled broadly.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Falken said, unsure what to say.

  “Not as sorry as I am,” Ngobe said. “But … ‘live and learn,’ as they say.”

  “Ngobe is attempting to map the objects in this solar system,” Saltari said, pointing to the piece of paper the professor had been studying. On it, Falken saw a number of overlapping circles sketched in pencil, with a large sun at their center.

  “This is the star at the center of New Australia’s system,” Ngobe said, pointing to the paper. “There are four other planets visible to the naked eye, and our own planet here has no less than six moons around it. We get partial eclipses quite often – you’ll see. Anyway, calculating all of their orbits without my usual equipment is quite an intellectual challenge.”