by J Battle
‘You’ll also need this.’ He offered me a big shiny hand-gun.
‘No, I don’t need a gun; I have no intention of shooting any one.’
‘It’s not for shooting people; that’s a Crime Against Others; even here. No, it’s for shooting ar-furs.’
‘Ar-furs? Aren’t they the local dog equivalent that you use to herd the cows?’
‘Yes and no. Well, no and yes. We do use them for cow control, but they’re nothing like dogs. Take the gun; believe me, you’ll need it if you spend any time outside the town. It holds forty-two bullets and the auto is set for seven shot bursts; you need that to slow down an ar-fur. One shot would just annoy it.’
So I took the gun, and the holster, and walked towards my ride. I swear I was already walking bow-legged.
Chapter 19 - Then send in the Marines
Collins was a marine, and as proud as punch about the whole idea. Girls wanted to be with him and guys wanted to be him. With his height, broad shoulders, lantern jaw and casual swagger, eyes always followed him when he entered a room, and lingered longingly when he left.
The one thing he’d always regretted in his ten year career was the lack of an opportunity to win medals. A little bit of fruit salad on his chest would seal the success story that was Sergeant Steven Andrew (Sack) Collins.
He and his squad had been to all twenty-one settled planets; engaging in multiple war-games, exploration, rescues and a considerable amount of marching up and down. But, as the elite force in the Earth Defence Army, they’d never had an enemy to fight. No intelligent aliens had been found on any of the planets and, so far, not a shot in anger had been fired.
Now, it seemed, all that was about to change. Sack and his team of heavily armed, fully trained, super motivated marines were waiting for the go signal. Something had taken out three probes, and they were going to investigate.
Sack’s first thought when he received his orders was that they were going to give someone a bloody nose; and about time too. But the powers that be wanted a low key approach, hence the small squad of ten, led by someone who was definitely not a marine. He was small and skinny, and he wasn’t even armed.
Adam Hollis used to be a xenobiologist; an expert in the fauna and flora of all twenty-one planets. That was until a week earlier, when he’d had something of a career change and accepted his appointment as EDA’s interspecies liaison officer; no training was provided, though it did have a nice retirement package and, apparently, there would be considerable opportunity to travel.
When the buzzer sounded, he nodded to Sack, who then led the team inside the multi-person squirtbooth.
As the booth ramped up its power levels, there was a lot of weapons checking, a little swaggering, and one or two nervous coughs. Hollis folded his arms across his narrow chest to disguise the shaking. He didn’t know what he was doing there; not really. What did he know about leading a gang of men with guns? The general had told him that every attempt must be made to achieve a peaceful solution to the problem; whatever that problem may be. The fire power the marines possessed was a last resort option. Hollis couldn’t help feeling that the gap between first and last resorts was going to be a little narrower than he’d like.
The hum reached a steady level and a claxon blared and the squad was squirted across the dozens of light years to their destination.
There was no time for reactions; no time to use their wonderful guns; no time to even think about aborting the mission and returning home. WithIn less than a second of their sudden arrival, they were all dead.
Being squirted onto the surface of a star will do that to you every time.
Chapter 20. – Then a problem with the bar staff
I couldn’t quite bring myself to get on his back, so I took hold of the mule’s halter, and quite surprisingly, he allowed me to lead him down the road. At some stage I was going to have to ride him but, as long I as I could put it off, I was OK with walking.
After a couple of minutes, wandering between low wooden buildings, raised slightly above the road, and flanked by wooden walkways I spotted Strange’s horse tied up to a post outside a building that looked like a saloon; it had swinging doors and everything.
My animal wasn’t happy about being tied up next to the magnificent stallion; you couldn’t blame him; the comparison was never going to be in his favour. After five minutes or so of tugging and less than dignified pleading, I managed to get him securely tied to the post. Then I looked up at the double half-doors and thought, yes, a pint would go down very nicely.
When I reached the doors, I threw them both open and strode manfully into the dim room. Silence fell, and every head turned towards me. At least, I assume that’s what happened. I can’t say I really noticed. There were three very attractive women behind the bar, and the lighting was set up to reveal their beauty in all its glory. I could have handled that; I could have marched up to the bar, banged my hand down and ordered a drink, full of confidence in my masculinity. I would probably have stood a round for them all to toast their beauty.
I couldn’t do any of that. I couldn’t even bring myself to walk another step into the bar. They were topless, and I just could not deal with that. I know it’s a deplorable exploitation of women; that it should have been put behind us a century ago; that in a world of equality, sexual, racial and financial, putting young women behind bars in such a state of undress was completely out of order.
I‘d like to say that I turned away and almost staggered back through the swinging doors for all of these reasons. But you know me; I couldn’t be in the bar because the sight of all those naked breasts would tangle up my poor brain into such a mess that I wouldn’t be able to string two thoughts together, or two words. I’d be a gibbering wreck, leaning on the bar, drooling into my beer, assuming I’d managed to order one. It’s not a good look for me.
Outside, I took a deep breath. The air was redolent with the scent of horse and mule, with a strong undercurrent of cow manure. Still, I took another breath, and then another. My heart slowed a little and I tried a few lines of Shakespeare. A speech from Julius Caesar usually puts everything back in its right place for me.
‘Wherefore rejoice? What conquests brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome?’
There’s a lot more, but you get the gist.
Feeling a little better, I turned just as Strange opened the doors.
‘OK?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Coming back inside?’
‘No. I’ll just...not go in.’
He gave me that look again, as if he wondered what use I was going to be on this trip; or at all.
‘You show his picture, see if anyone recognises him,’ I suggested, trying to sound as if I knew what I was talking about. That’s the way it always happens in those old twentieth century westerns. You’re looking for a guy, so you go to the saloon, and there he is, nursing his whisky and doing a bit of scowling; there’s always a bit of scowling.
Just then a strange creature ambled across the road towards us. If you imagine a badger, without the stripes and fur, with its body flattened and widened, covered in sandy coloured scales and the size of a pony, you won’t be right, but that’s as close as I can get.
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘It’s an ar-fur.’
Quick as a flash, I pulled out my gun and trained it on the ravening beast. Strange grabbed my arm; his grip was far harder than it needed to be; I’d have bruises for weeks.
‘What are you doing?’ he said, with one of those I’m-talking-to-a-five-year old tones.
‘They’re killers!‘
‘Not on their own, they’re not. One or two are fine. They do what they are told and they aren’t dangerous. Not as long as they get their share of cow. But when three or more are together, a pack mentality takes over, and then they are really dangerous.’
‘Are you sure? I think he’s giving me the evil eye.’
‘He’s probably just wondering what you taste like.’<
br />
I glance up at him. ‘Is that a joke, Strange?’
He looked back at me and shook his head.
For a couple of minutes, we watched the ugly creature snuffle its way along the road, without talking. Then Strange snorted.
‘If I’m in the saloon, showing pictures, what are you going to do?’ It was a reasonable question.
‘I have another avenue of enquiry I want to pursue.’ Even I was impressed with that.
He grunted and turned back into the bar.
In fact, I was telling the truth. I wanted another chat with the stable guy/hotelier. It seemed to me that Masters (I know it was really Johnson, but I'm keeping in character for Strange's benefit) was a big heavy guy and he wouldn’t have been happy to walk very far. The chances were that he’d have got himself a horse at the earliest possible moment. So our grizzled friend might have hired him a horse, or maybe even a room.
He might even be there now, taking an afternoon snooze. We could get the job done and be home in time for Coronation Street. I’ve always been a bit of an optimist; my glass isn’t just half full, there’s a full one next to it.
Still, you never know.
I left Brian at his post and walked back to the hotel.
There was no sign of the grizzled one (I really should have got his name) so I thought I’d take a look upstairs, just to check out our room. If I happened upon our target in the process, I could cancel the room and save the fragrant Mrs. Masters (ex) and Mrs. Johnson (current) some money.
I reached the top of the stairs and was immediately apprised of two facts.
Firstly, Masters (Johnson) wasn’t there. Secondly, when our host said there was only one room, that’s exactly what he meant. There was only one room, with six beds and an armchair. Who got to sit in the comfy chair was anyone’s guess, but you could be sure it wouldn’t be me. My money was on Strange.
A little disappointed on all fronts, I started to walk back downstairs to see if I could find our host and extract some info from him. This was not the way I usually worked, so I had to make it up as I went along. But how hard could it be on a world of a hundred thousand souls to find one man?
I found him in the stable, cleaning out his filter. I really wished that I’d missed this little personal episode, as the smaller the portion of his face that was visible, the more settled was my stomach. His nose was so red and bulbous and veined that it couldn’t be real; could it? When he’d smeared it with a gob of cold cream and replaced his filter, I was much happier.
I coughed to make my presence known; he matched my cough and raised it with a phlegmy spit. I decided not to get involved with competitive bodily function expressions; not after the last time when Julie beat me hands down.
‘Can you help me with some information, Mr...?’ I asked as he adjusted the fitting of his filter.
‘The name’s Spittoon; Jimmy Spittoon.’
‘Spittoon? That’s an usual name.’
‘Not in my family, it aint.’
‘Anyway, Mr. Spittoon. Can I call you Jimmy?’
‘Mr. Spittoon is just fine, son.’
‘OK, Mr. Spittoon it is. Can you tell me if you’ve ever seen this man?’
I showed him the image of Masters on my wrist-top.
‘Yeah. I seen him. Couple or three weeks ago; maybe.’
‘Great! That’s just great. Do you know where he is now?’
‘Nope.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’
‘Yeah, I reckon.’
‘And..?’
He coughed and spat again, enthusiastically; I heard the splat as it hit the floor.
‘Where did he say he was going?’ I really needed a good set of pliers to help with the extraction.
‘Can’t really say.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t really say. I wasn’t paying much attention. I was thinking about a new saddle I want to buy...’
He turned slightly and took an old horseshoe from a peg on the wall. He began to toss it lightly in to the air.
I watched him for a moment or so before I realised that it was my turn to say something. And it was even longer before I understood what I was supposed to say; that a bribe was being requested. There’s no point being subtle with me; it’s not one of my strengths.
‘Perhaps if I give you some credits, it will help you put yourself back in the moment and you might remember what he said; how does that sound?‘
‘You never know, young sir. It might work; if the figure is big enough. I’m not promising nothing, mind you, but maybe it’s worth a go.’
I studied his face for a moment; how good was he at poker? I wondered. Better than I was, I guessed; most people are. How high to start, was the first question I had to struggle with. I suggested two hundred. There was no movement on his face, though I thought I’d spotted a flicker in his eye, and I knew I’d started too high.
In the end, it cost me five hundred, and I mean me because he wasn’t going to give me a receipt, was he?
With the deal done, I waited for my answers. It seemed that Spittoon was waiting for my questions; I gave in first.
‘Where is he then?’
‘He’s gone to a small town, half a day’s ride from here.’ He gave me a set of complicated directions.
I was about to leave when a question occurred to me.
‘You said that you didn’t know where he was. Was that just a ploy, to milk money out of me?’
‘No, it was the truth.’
‘Didn’t he tell you where he was going?’
‘Yeah, he did. But people lie. People lie all the time.’
‘Were you lying when you told me where he is?’
‘Maybe.’ He started tossing the horseshoe from one hand to the other.
I decided it was time to leave, whilst I still had my dignity.
Chapter 21 - Then the picture becomes a little clearer
There’s not usually much in the way of panic at the EDA’s HQ; situated in sunny Miami for political and tanning reasons. But the loss of the marines raised the blood pressure of all of the senior officers directly involved; especially when the photograph was received.
A particularly pessimistic officer had arranged for a one-shot, squirt capable camera to be sent along with the squad. He didn’t tell anyone about it, he just fitted it to the helmet of a junior soldier. When they arrived at their disastrous destination, the split second before it was reduced to its molecular base was sufficient for a photo to be taken and squirted back to Earth.
Barnes spent a couple of minute studying the image on his computer, and then he ran it through some imaging software. When he was sure of his facts, he called his superior and asked for an urgent meeting.
An hour later, every senior officer in the building seemed to be crowding around the long desk in the number one meeting room.
‘Can you clarify the details again for us...Barnes?’ He was a three star general and he was normally better with names.
‘Yes, Sir,’ snapped Barnes as he rose to his feet. ‘The image sent back when the squad arrived is clearly an image of a star, from very close to its surface. Spectrum analysis confirms that the star is the intended destination; 20 Leonis Minoris. It seems clear that the coordinates for the squirt were out by some 130 million kilometres.’
‘But, how is that possible? The figures were given by the AI.’
General Fourths was determined to get to the bottom of this. If the problem couldn’t be resolved, the least he required was someone to blame.
‘That is correct, Sir. It is my opinion, and I have no evidence yet to back this up, that the coordinates were altered by persons unknown. I think if we examine the squirt generator, we’ll find evidence of that tampering.’
‘Who would do such a thing?’
‘There are certain ... civilians who are not happy with the opening up of new worlds. We have names and addresses for the main ones; it shouldn’t be too hard to round them up and Quantanimo them.’
<
br /> The general smiled. ‘OK, Lieutenant. I’ll leave this in your hands. Check out the equipment and report back to me. Then we’ll have at look at these lily-livered civilians.’
Barnes saluted so hard that he expected to find a bruise on his forehead the next time he looked.
He went straight to the Squirtport, along with a small team of technicians. The generator was stripped down and virtually reduced to its component pieces before the end of the day. The foreign part was almost missed as it looked exactly like the part it had replaced. Only Barnes's insistence that every component be weighed revealed the anomaly; it was far too light. Further examination showed that, not only was it not part of the original machine, it wasn’t even of earthly origin.
Barnes held the little cube up to the light. In his hand he had proof that mankind was not the only intelligent life in the universe. But even that monumental fact paled into insignificance when he considered that they didn’t just exist; they were here.
If he didn’t get a promotion out of this, he’d be very surprised.
Interlude - Here be Aliens III
The female Zolty was planning her trip. She was alone on the reef now that her superior had left to enjoy a few moments of solitary self-indulgence.
She knew that the form she took would have to be human, but they were such ugly creatures.
She projected a mirror into the cool night air before her and studied her reflection. Her skin eruptors were purple and inflamed, ready to burst and eject her fragrant pus into the night. The lips of her main mouth were full and drooling, and her infrared eye was just the right shade of red, in contrast to the yellow of her three standard light orbs. She lifted the front part of her body up a little, to expose her much vaunted and admired flotation sacks and rippled her head and chest frills.
She knew that she was regarded as a true beauty, and now she would have to hide that beauty behind the facade of a bony human child.
She stared hard at the young girl in her mirror, trying to see if there was anything of herself behind that straight blonde hair and clear complexion, behind the smile and the dress.
