by PJ McDermott
Hickory’s and Jess’s escort thrust them forwards and forced them to kneel in the center of the group.
The hair of the most ancient one towered higher than his companions, and the pall of impending death was stamped clearly on his face. He withdrew a long wooden pipe from his mouth and jabbed it at the strangers, speaking in a halting, high-pitched whine interspersed with whistles and clicking sounds.
A hand pushed Jess from behind, and she sprawled into the dust. Another native seized her hands roughly and bound them behind her back.
An argument broke out amongst the Aged Ones, with finger pointing and fists thumping hands. The leader rose slowly to his feet and glared at the most outspoken, who cowered before him but continued to frown at the prisoners from beneath his skeletal brows.
The leader signaled to the escort, and they hauled Hickory and Jess to their feet then dragged them towards a fenced area containing three dome-shaped huts located on the periphery of the camp. They were pushed inside the nearest hut and the door secured behind them. The room was small with no windows and scarcely enough room for both to lie down. The walls and roof were sturdy, made with wooden poles and mud covered by dried goldengrass, and bound together with vines.
Jess dragged herself into a sitting position and wrinkled her nose. “Must be the local jail—sure smells like it.”
Hickory shivered. A memory of her confinement in the dungeons of the Pharlaxian leader, Sequana, rose like a ghost in her mind but she shook it away. “That etching,” she said. “The smaller beings are portrayed as servants or serfs of the taller aliens, but they had an important function in that society. These cave-dwellers look like the same species, but they’ve regressed to a state of barbarism.” She took a deep breath. “And much as the accommodation here leaves a lot to be desired, I’m sorry to tell you it’s only a temporary confinement,” she said.
“Cannibals, then?” asked Jess, flatly.
“I’m afraid so, and ironically our Avanauri appearance has probably served to whet their appetite. As Earthlings, we would have been looked upon as gods.”
“All the more reason for us to get out of here, and fast,” said Jess, shivering. “Stand with your back to me and I’ll try to loosen your bonds.”
The light shining through the smoke hole in the roof helped, and in a few minutes both were free. Jess tested the poles of their hut, but they were too stiff to bend or break loose. “Perhaps we can dig our way out,” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“We should have another look at that mural, first,” said Hickory. “Give me a pencil from your backpack.” She scratched out a small hole through the mud wall and peered at the etching, which was now much closer. “The Ark sits on land but near to the sea, which conforms to the professor’s theory,” she said. “There’s a butterfly shark and some of those strange amphibian creatures found in the bay.”
The amphibians, legs spread wide like frogs and heads out of the water, seemed to be gazing at the helmeted hominids. This was positive proof of a different species responsible for the building of the Ark. She dragged her eyes away to examine the next scene. “Jess, come here. Is that what I think it is?” she said, focusing on the outline of a square with a dozen symbols inside.
Jess squinted through the gap. “It looks like the panel at the doorway to the Ark and that row of symbols beneath it is the same symbols arranged in sequence.” She laughed and smacked her hand on the wall. “It’s the combination.” A wide grin spread across her face. “And this next drawing is a layout of the inside. And the one above the Ark—what do you make of that?” She turned to face Hickory.
Hickory looked at the etching and inhaled quickly. It couldn’t be. “Many years ago…” she began hesitantly. The realization of what the message conveyed sunk in and she sat down abruptly.
Jess reached over to touch her shoulder. “Are you alright?”
Hickory nodded. “You remember your history? Before the world government was created, before the New Dark Age, the world was at war for five years. Weapons were invented then that could destroy not only nations but the whole planet. Thank God they were never used.” She pointed in the direction of the drawing outside the stockade. “That looks very much like the blast from a pure fusion bomb.”
Jess’s eyes closed briefly, and she nodded. “I thought so too, but hoped I was wrong. Surely no sane being would arm one of those. The Earth Government and the IA banned the development of PFB’s anywhere in the universe.”
“We’re talking a thousand years ago, centuries prior to the IA. Before testing ended in 2104, they set off a controlled explosion equivalent to ten teratons of TNT on Jupiter. If it had detonated on Earth, the neutron flux would have delivered a lethal dose of radiation to everywhere within a five thousand kilometer radius. On Avanaux, that would be an extinction event.”
“So, this is a warning, yes? To anyone who would enter the Ark. The first part of the message is the Ark can only be entered in you have the right key…”
“Otherwise, the consequence of getting the combination wrong is—”
“You detonate a PFB.”
Jess’s face paled, and she stammered. “B…b…but that was a long time ago! It couldn’t possibly still be active, could it?”
A muscle on Hickory’s cheek twitched, and she gave a curt nod. “A lot in the city is well-preserved—the lights, door locks, climate systems.”
“No…no. It must mean something different. Why would the Ark builders do such a thing?” Jess’s face broke into a relieved smile. “No, surely if the bomb were still working, it would have gone off when we blasted the door open.”
Hickory appreciated Jess’s need to counter each argument, hoping to find an easy way out. But since seeing the engraving, a feeling of doom had hit Hickory in the stomach like a boxer’s punch. “As far as your first question goes, I can only imagine that the Ark contains something so precious, the builders would prevent it falling into the wrong hands at any cost. The drawing to the far right looks like it might represent the cargo.”
Jess examined the square box containing dozens of hieroglyphic symbols. Straight lines connected it to some of the Ark builders, to the primitives and to the fish-creatures. Other lines joined the Ark to trees and the sun, while many other lines ended without any connection. “I can see the trees and sun may be symbolic of the environment. What about the lines that don’t connect to anything?”
“Perhaps they’re reserved for animal life and cultures on other places on the planet. If this truly is an Ark with a mission to transport Prosperine and reproduce it elsewhere, that would make sense.”
Jess breathed rapidly. “And the booby trap? What’s your take on that?”
“If everything else is operational, it seems logical the booby trap, if it exists, would be too.”
“If it exists? Do you think there could be another explanation?” Jess’s eyes brightened.
Hickory shook her head. “I can only see four alternatives.” She counted them off on her fingers. “Perhaps the Ark builders didn’t create the booby trap, but some other intelligent species did so for their own reasons. That would be the worst scenario because we’d be dealing with something entirely unknown.” She continued with her second option. “Perhaps the Ark builders deactivated the weapon after inscribing this warning—possibly because the danger they feared had passed. Or, third, the warning is a bluff to scare people away, or—”
“Or it’s on some sort of bloody delay!” Jess’s eyes widened. “We have to get back to the camp and warn Gareth and the admiral.” She scrambled to her feet and thumped the walls of the enclosure.
Hickory restrained Jess’s arm. “Wait. That’s only what I think. I might have misinterpreted the message. There could be other explanations. In any case, we need to take all this information with us when we leave. PORO might help us interpret it more accurately.”
The blood had drained from Jess’s face. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I have the notebook and a
pencil. I’ll transcribe it if you check it over with me. But that’s not going to help us get out of here.”
Hickory put an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll need some outside help for that. And I’ve got the right incentive.” She pulled a chocolate bar from her backpack.
At Sea
The Bikashi had remained cramped in his tiny cabin since leaving Harbor Town. Thurle had brought him whatever food and drink was on offer, mostly dried fruit and reconstituted vegetables and a little hard cheese. Vogel despaired of ever sinking his teeth into a good juicy slab of beef ever again but consoled himself with the thought that in a few days, a week at worst, he would be heading home.
The storm arrived midway between the Scarf and Dominion Island, and he lost what little appetite he had. Thurle brought buckets of sea water into his cabin to clean it, but it was never enough to take away the foul smell. When the ocean poured down the hatchway and flooded under his cabin door, he’d had enough. No point in staying in this hole if I’m going to drown anyway.
The captain had trimmed the sails, leaving only the jib, but the Shivering Serpent pitched and rolled horribly in the raging seas and howling gale. For the fourth time in as many minutes, the prow trembled on the crest of a forty-five foot wave then crashed downwards into the trough. The wind attacked Vogel fiercely as he clambered up the companionway. The hat and the cloth covering his face were whipped over the side. Torrential rain stung his eyes, and he grasped hold of a flapping line, fighting to keep his feet. “Captain! Thurle!” he roared.
The boat careened sideways, and he lost his grip. Staggering out of control across the deck, he slammed into the back of a sailor, sending him over the rail. Vogel grasped hold of a forestay and tried to keep track of the crewmember, but the rain, the choppy sea, and the lurching boat made it difficult, and soon the naur had been left far behind.
“Vogel, are you out of your mind? What are you doing here? You must go below,” Thurle shouted into his face.
“I’m damned if I will. I’ll not wait in that stinking pit to drown.”
“You must. You cannot let the crew or our soldiers see you like this. Come, you can have my cabin—I’ll share with the men. Look.” Thurle pointed at a glimmer of silver light on the horizon. “The storm is almost at an end. When things are back to normal, then we can let the others into our secret, but slowly, deliberately. Not like this.” He shook his head and looked into Vogel’s eyes.
The Bikashi nodded briefly. “So be it. But if I drown, know that I will haunt you forever, Thurle.” The cackle might have been a laugh, but Thurle had never heard the commander make a joke. He didn’t dare respond in kind.
“So, this is our mysterious benefactor? I am honored to meet you, at last, friend.” The captain greeted Vogel and Thurle as they entered his cabin. He finished pouring three glasses of wine and handed one to Vogel. “Come, sir, you may remove your outer garments. I promise not to faint like a nauri.” He winked and handed the second glass to Thurle. “Our good lieutenant here has warned me that you have an ugly face, but there’s no need to be shy with me. I have seen many ill-favoured features borne of battle in my time.”
“That may be so, captain, but amongst my own people I am counted amongst the rarest of beauties.” Vogel bowed towards Thurle.
Thurle choked on his wine. That was definitely a joke. The Bikashi had discovered a sense of humor. He glanced at the sword in Vogel’s belt.
“Captain, if I may, before Vogel reveals himself, I’d like to tell you something more of him—”
“Enough of this nonsense. We are not children here—” The captain tore free the cloth hiding Vogel’s face. “Wha…” He staggered backward a few steps, his mouth gaping. “What kind of monster is this?” he said, staring at the alien’s enormous head. Vogel’s forehead sloped back sharply, and he had no chin to speak of. His lipless mouth sat below a long twitching snout, while his eyes were dark and set deeply in his skull.
“Captain…” Thurle wrung his hands.
“Ha, ha, ha! A rare beauty, ha ha.” The captain slapped Vogel on the shoulder. “You may be the ugliest son of a whore I’ve ever clapped eyes on, but you have a rare sense of humor. Have another glass of wine, and we can talk about your home country and your beautiful compatriots. Then, when we’ve had our fill, I’ll introduce you to the crew. They are keen to hear of this treasure of yours, and to see the famed Sword of Connat-sèra-Haagar for themselves.”
It took the Shivering Serpent a further three days to reach the outskirts of the Scarf. Vogel, Thurle, and the ship’s captain spent the time convincing and cajoling the crew and the hired soldiers to accept Vogel as a warrior prince from the East. He had come to Avanaux to recover the treasure that had been lost in the Scarf and claim what was rightfully his, they said. After the initial shock, they all responded to the promise of great wealth and the threat of the sword.
The silvery torpedo shapes sprang from the wave at the bow of the ship, spread their winged fins and flew alongside. Vogel eyed them hungrily.
“They bring good luck, master Vogel, sir,” said the sailor taking depth soundings.
“See if you can catch one for me, and I’ll give you an extra share of the treasure,” said Vogel.
The sailor’s eyes widened. “Are you sure…sir?”
The crew gathered to watch the Bikashi prepare and cook the fish on an iron grill. He stuffed it with dehydrated vegetables and rubbed it over with salt, then wrapped it up in a large tropical leaf and baked it. They drifted away one by one, muttering to themselves as he sat down and consumed it with obvious relish.
“Thurle, what’s the headcount? Do I imagine it or are we missing another soldier?” said Vogel.
The lieutenant looked askance at the fish on Vogel’s plate. “You do realize the Avanauri use these fish to fertilize their fields?”
“Only because your stomach can’t digest them. Frankly, this is the best dish I’ve had since landing on Avanaux twelve months ago. Now, answer my question.”
Thurle straightened. “Yes, sir. Byji-sèr-Thren didn’t answer roll call this morning. Word has it he drank too much last night and may have slipped overboard. Counting the unfortunate loss during the storm, and the two who skipped ship on Dominion Island, we have four soldiers and three crew looking forward to the fight, sir!”
Seven, plus he and Thurle. The captain wouldn’t take part, preferring to stay with his ship. “Alright, I want everyone to come to the morning training session. It’ll help hone their skill—and make sure that each has a sharp blade. With luck and the sword’s blessing, we should arrive at the island tomorrow morning.” Vogel’s skill in navigating the shallow inlets and narrow gorges impressed the crew, but Vogel knew the sword was drawn to the spaceship lying on the seabed offshore of the Island, and would unerringly take him there.
Vogel stared at the beach through his spyglass. There were more people than he had anticipated. But not enough to worry about, the sword whispered. Vogel wondered if he were quite mad. The sword talked to him more and more, and as each day passed he become less and less like a Bikashi shock troop commander. Vogel wasn’t sure what he was transforming into. The strange sense of humor he’d developed was one shocking sign of how much his brain had changed. It seemed to go hand in hand with an increase in tolerance of Thurle’s peccadilloes—he’d actually come to like the naur!
Conversely, he had much less patience with the things he was unable to mold to his needs, like the inferior fighting skills of the naurs, the slow pace of the sailing ship, and the unpredictability of the weather. The crew quickly learned to avoid his company at such times. His temper became legendary. Other signs of the change included how little sleep he needed, and his incredible appetite for knowledge, just as Connat-sèra-Haagar had experienced. He guffawed. What kind of magic would give a Bikashi a sense of humor and a thirst for knowledge? He vowed he would regain his usual nature when this had ended.
Every morning, he exercised and practiced battle techniq
ues with the volunteers on deck. He marveled at how strong his muscles had become, the quickness of his reflexes, his sharper eyesight and the improvements to his senses of smell and taste. When he realized he had grown an inch or two in height, Vogel felt that perhaps he would be able to cope with the less desirable changes the sword had brought about after all.
The Shivering Serpent lay ten miles from shore, and the enemy were but dots in his spyglass, scurrying to and fro. There did seem to be an unusual amount of activity. He shifted his focus to the hills beyond the beach and saw other figures there. He pocketed his spyglass and stomped off the poop-deck impatiently. It would be at least four hours before he’d be close enough to work out what was going on.
Vogel lay on his cabin bed and considered his options. Another soldier had gone down with fever overnight. That left himself, Thurle, the Captain and five fighters to get the job done. His priority was to escape this planet, but he wasn’t about to leave empty-handed. The shuttlecraft on the beach appeared an enticing prospect, but only if he got what he came for.
When he’d discovered what first looked to be a sunken city, he’d paddled his raft around it several times looking for a way in. He’d even risked the butterfly sharks to search underwater, but all to no avail. He’d told Thurle and the rest that there was unlimited treasure to be found there, and he felt sure it was as he said, although it might not be in the most convenient currency for them.
Had the Agency found the city, yet? It was possible, even probable. He had discovered it by accident when he went out to spear a fish for his dinner. He felt sure the clever Earthmen would have found a way in by now. His plan was simple: locate the entrance, kill whoever was inside, strip the place of its valuables, especially any weapons technology, and collect some trinkets to keep his soldiers happy.
