by Steve Rzasa
Probably carried parasites in the thick black hair on his top.
The Vice, seated next to the Administrator, touched tentacles behind their backs. The visitor could not see them—so the Administrator assumed, unless his visual acuity trumped the Ghiqasu species’. Repugnance, the Vice felt.
The Administrator responded with his own open emotion: Disappointment.
The being’s mouth cracked open, a huge fissure filled with rows of white blocks. A few were sharpened. Omnivorous. Nothing like the fibrous strips a sensible creature should possess.
The Vice rotated in a half circle.
One did not have to be an expert on inter-species relations to know these guys did not like me. Body language aside, they didn’t speak except for the two words, and they made no effort to intercept me with a greeting.
Since I was, in fact, such an expert, I realized in a heartbeat they found me gross.
“Captain Todd Nazaryan,” I said.
“Appreciation for your arrival, Captain.” No birdsong here, which to my ear was reminiscent of Chesapeake Bay sandpiper warbling. Struck me as odd how an alien could make a noise from my childhood. “Urgency for this rescue.”
“Yes, about that.” I opened my tablet and swiped across the details of the message. “Eight young Rycole trainees, all lost in a crash on an unoccupied planet. Incore isn’t claimed by any species, though it is within Consociation territory.”
“Agreement with your assessment.”
The Rycole with the black robe did all the talking. The one next to it wore a robe of simple khaki, with only a pair of white stripes to match the eight of the Administrator. Both had bodies shaped like trash cans, pale green skin, spotted brown tentacles, lumpen glossy mounds for eyes, and tiny portholes for mouths. “Well, Administrator, my question is simple: why do you need me at all?”
That got the second one singing. Before either could translate into English, the Administrator held two tentacles straight out, pointing at the second guy. It immediately quieted.
“Apologies for discourtesy of the Vice,” the Administrator said. “Misunderstanding as to our customs.”
Check. The Vice did not realize I was fluent in Rycole culture. I smiled. Time to disabuse it of the notion it was dealing with a backwater alien race. “Your people have large broods for a sentient species, producing eight offspring in a single birthing season. However, this is unsurprising, given your life expectancy is half of mine. With so many offspring constantly being born, individual life is—to put politely—devalued. Rescues are not affected. Those who are lost are consigned to the Fate.”
Silence. Their writhing tentacles, partly concealed behind their backs, let me know they were in a form of constant communication I could never share.
“Correct,” the Administrator said.
“So again…” I spread my arms and leaned forward, a gesture I’d picked from the Ghiqasu. It was an invitation to share their story.
“Ninth member of the party is not Rycole.”
Ah. “It would be embarrassing if you didn’t rescue the whole group, especially since other species have a much greater concern for bringing home those gone missing.”
“Agreement,” the Vice said. “Concern for danger in this operation.”
Danger was a negotiable term. The Rycole hated risking their necks for anyone, what with their short lifespans and fragile bodies. Perhaps that fear was the same reason they were the most superb doctors in the known galaxy. Healing equaled safety.
“Eagerness for your help,” the Administrator said.
“That is why I am here. Human Interventions has a proven track record of retrievals. You won’t find anyone better.”
“Nearest is your ship,” the Vice said. “Other alternatives were not available.”
I spun the tablet around and held it toward the Administrator, ignoring the toady. “I need your approval for the down payment, so my people and I can get to work.”
The Administrator slapped a tentacle onto the tablet’s signing blank. It was a smart enough device to register skin patterns. The Administrator traced an elaborate maze of sharp angles. The Rycole would pay us plenty for this retrieval, enough we’d return to Earth sooner than we’d expected.
“Disbelief in your stated abilities,” the Vice said.
I gave them a hearty but fake salute. Sandra would be horrified. “Fear not, gentlemen. We’ll do what it takes to get them back. That is, after all, why you called humans.”
We logged our arrival at Incore on November 6, 2016. Incore’s star system was uninhabited, as empty of civilization as the world itself, but was also on the transit routes for Consociation trading vessels. The planet had Earthlike colors to it, greens and blues and whites, though I could tell it wasn’t home. Any human could.
Fifteen years ago, the Panstellar Consociation visited Earth and negotiated us into their federation. Over time humans became trusted enough to fight in wars against the Consociation’s enemies, and send researchers into space, while the aliens shared limited amounts of technology.
Some of us qualified to traverse the Consociation for other reasons.
I walked the corridor to the cockpit as easily as a cat stalking the windowsill. Chesapeake shuddered underfoot, air roaring outside the hull. Didn’t break my step. Why should it? Father always expected me to stay upright in the Zodiac. I’d thread bait into the traps while he raced up the inlets, the boat spraying foam behind us.
“Sandra, darling, how are we looking?” I slapped the back of her seat.
“Five by five.” Sandra Dane watched four screens, two on either side of her control panel, and the sky rushing past the cockpit windows. Her hands clasped on two bars, each one linked to two steering sticks plunging deep into the panel. Ghiqasu had four arms; this was Griff’s primary and most valuable modification to the ship we leased from them. “LZ is a thousand miles from our position.”
“Quite a distance.”
“Someone didn’t want to drop down directly on top of the LZ. Someone thought it would be safer to make a long, boring descent than a tight loop.”
“We’re in no rush.” I found an empty bench along the starboard side of the cockpit and strapped in. Moisture beaded along the thick windows. “The storm season’s arrived. I’d rather not risk damage to our ship; at least, no more than would be covered by our lease.”
“Roger that.”
“What does it mean, anyway? Five by five.”
“Old Army code for clear communications. Signal quality and strength at their greatest. Five by five.”
“Okay then.” My kemence was still tucked behind the seat cushions. I propped it between my knees and strummed with the bow. Grandmother’s song welled up inside me with each pass over the strings. Notes filled the cockpit, drowning out the rush of the air and the chirp of the consoles.
“Entering the storm belts,” Sandra said. “Upper troposphere of Incore.”
“Give me intercom, please.”
She tapped a blue button, then gave me a thumbs-up.
“All hands, this is the Captain.” My music dropped in volume, fingers deftly strumming as I spoke. “This descent’s bound to be rough.”
“Todd, do you have any idea how many pieces a Ghiqasu fusion drive has? I’ve got a dozen scattered across the deck!” Griffin Ji’s voice cut through both the music and the storm, sharp as a knife.
“I have a vague notion, Griff, and I rely on your talent to keep them all in sync. Speaking of which, why are you dismantling the drive?”
“Not… dismantling. Just adjusting. For greater efficiency in the transition.”
“Greater than provided by the alien race that built it?”
“Hey, we’re using the scramjets into the atmosphere, right? Don’t even need the fusions until we get back to orbit.” A deep sigh. “I’ll clean it up.”
“Too late.” Sandra’s hands tightened. Deep brown skin tightening across taut muscle was the only other warning I got.
Chesapeake jounced as bad as the time Father and I hit a wave on choppy bay waters. Lost a trap then.
Red lights flickered along the right side of Sandra’s console. She spared a hand for a half second to slap them off.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“A real nothing, or a possible-problem-but-I-won’t-worry-you-Todd nothing?”
“B.”
Having a conversation with the woman could be as productive as questioning a chair.
Chesapeake leveled out over a great sprawling forest of undulating branches. The trees were huge—not in height, for they couldn’t be much taller than the average pine, but an individual trunk and its foliage covered tens of thousands of square feet.
It was dark enough Sandra flipped on the external searchlights. She also pulled up the diagnostic imagery, my favorite part. A hologram of Chesapeake in crude white and grays floated before me, two feet long. She was pointed as a knife, with six wings protruding in three sets at three very different angles. Big as a 747 and far more exotic, Chesapeake was an older scout vessel of Ghiqasu manufacture, one meant for use in star systems. She lacked any faster-than-light drive, which meant we were confined to transit through the Consociation’s system of Big Rings.
“Debris trail.” Sandra tapped one of her screens. The map zoomed in, showing red specks racing along the edge of the scan results. “Infrared snagged them. Bits are still warm from the crash.”
“Indeed. Looks like the impact area up ahead. Damaged foliage.” More like a gigantic trimmer sheared the tops off dozens of those massive trees.
“You guys found it already?” Dr. Trinidad Herrera wobbled through the hatchway. For a woman with beautiful bronze skin, she wore a curious shade of green on her face. Her eyes went wide, and she slapped a hand to her mouth. “Hrmpf.”
“Doc, you puke on my flight deck, I will personally jettison you,” Sandra said.
“I won’t. You know how hard it is to wash stains from this?” Trini plucked at the powder blue jumpsuit she wore. Same as mine and Sandra’s. Each had our company logo on the right and left shoulders—a gold ring around a black patch, with the blue letters “H.Int.” stitched inside.
“Point taken. But you all agreed with the color,” I said.
“No, we all agreed it was worth the pay to wear them.”
“What?” I pressed my hands to my heart. “Sandra, do you think they’re ugly, too?”
“LZ in five, Todd.”
My screen was awash in faint orange glows. “Problem. The native plants? They’re putting out an IR signature beyond anything we’d see on Earth.”
“Should still be able to find the ship, if it’s still in one piece.”
“I’m definitely getting a darker smear. Sensors?”
Sandra’s panel came alive at the touch of her fingers. It displayed a rounded shape like a beetle’s shell, tucked among the trees. “Got it.”
“Let me try the life scanners.” The software happily informed me there were hundreds of biological entities below. Ghiqasu sensing equipment was a marvel compared with what we humans could muster. “Could be nine bodies. Sorry, Doctor, no way to discern injury at this distance.”
“Are you sure they’re all alive?”
“I’m sure they’re not dead.”
“Getting some interference on the primary communications channel,” Sandra said. “Might be from their ship’s leftovers.”
“Keep me posted.” I herded Trini toward the hatch. “Come along, my dear, you’re soon to have patients.”
Trini was the finest human physician I’d ever met, a thought I kept firmly in the forefront of my mind as she injected me with an immune system booster. “This being an alien world, we shouldn’t be susceptible to alien germs,” she said. “But the galaxy’s full of surprises.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Aaron Neske stood by the landing ramp on Chesapeake’s lower aft hull. He was the tallest of our bunch, easily six and a half feet, built narrow like an aspen. He was also the only one who flat refused to wear the jumpsuit. Instead he had on a dark blue button-down shirt, tight Wranglers, and a forest green Carhartt jacket. Our logo was emblazoned triple size on his back.
“What’s got you more taciturn than usual?”
“Broncos game this weekend. I’m missing it. Again.” Aaron snugged a ball cap of the mentioned football team low on buzz-cut blond hair. His beard gleamed the same color.
“It’s been a long trip, I agree. We’ll get you back to Wyoming in time for Thanksgiving.”
“Better. Oh, and I’m taking the Sidewinder.” He patted a huge, gray weapon leaned against the bulkhead next to him. Its top end, where a gun’s muzzle would be, was home to a convex lens of smoky blue glass. “Best thing we have aboard for scaring off local critters.”
“I won’t argue.” Not this time. Not since he used our Smith & Wesson laser rifle to temporarily blind and stun a pack of jendish on Paxara. Jendish? Those are like wolves. Only bipedal. And eight feet tall.
“Coming in treetop height.” Sandra’s voice was reassuringly smooth through the intercom overhead. “Ready at the hatch?”
“Ready.” I had on a thick vest and backpack full of survival gear, same as the pack Aaron wore. Trini’s bag was bigger, and if I had to guess stuffed with half our infirmary. Together we linked safety straps from the bags to the bars bolted on either side. “Opening.”
I pounded the release. Red lights flashed and an alarm whined. Air rushed in around the edges of the hatch. My eyes watered. Through the mist, I spotted the crashed Rycole ship at the end of the nasty black gouge it had torn in the forest.
“I can’t believe we’re two hundred fifty light-years from home and you’re worried about a football game.” Trini tucked herself into Aaron’s shadow.
“Never said I didn’t miss the family.”
“Yeah, but the game? You’re going to have a hard time streaming it this far out. I doubt we can find it on the Consociation’s version of entertainment.”
“Definitely not as much fun as Ghiqasu blade brawls. I’m betting I can get the last few games if I look hard enough.”
“You’re loco.”
“Hear me out. We swing by McAuliffe Post on our way back to Earth and—”
A bright flash of light seared my vision. The accompanying hiss drowned out all speech. An impact brought me to my side, twisting my leg around. Everything shook a thousand times worse than our rough descent. I swore Chesapeake tipped sideways.
The landing ramp was gone, with nothing but a ragged edge remaining. It steamed and sputtered as the metal cooled from red-hot.
Aaron and his brace bar vanished.
Trini screamed. Her strap caught on the edge of the hatch. She dangled outside, legs kicking mere feet over the tree canopy.
“Hang on!” I slid on my stomach until my fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Sandra, get us out of here!”
Nothing but static issued from the speakers. Chesapeake slewed so sharply Sandra must have heard me. Either that or we were about to crash.
The ship heaved. Trini and I flew into the air.
There was a blissful moment of soaring, with nothing but wind in my ears. Same thing happened when my brother, sisters, and I used to leap the end of the dock. One second, flying.
The next, splashdown.
Ow.
Pain woke me. Leaves the size of my face, ripped and slick with moisture, stuck all over. Everything was blurred, though after a few blinks I could make out a pale blue smudge hovering over me. Trini.
“…you hear me? Captain?” A few more blinks, and her face coalesced. A deep gouge marred her left cheek. Blood dripped down to her chin, yet she ran the medical analyzer over me.
“I’m good.” Only a slight headache, soreness all over. It was dark wherever we were, with bits of light beginning to poke through the leaves—
Leaves everywhere. Huge branches. We were up in one of the trees, at the top of the bole, where the
biggest limbs spread out. Rotten leaves and moist soil provided a comforting cushion. Everything stank of wet life, quite the shocker after days breathing Chesapeake’s recycled air. I shifted my weight, started to stand.
Agony sliced through my right leg.
“How is it?” Aaron leaned against the biggest limb. His gaze pinned down every bit of moving vegetation and every trunk within a hundred feet of where I sat. Didn’t seem any more bothered by our predicament than missing the Broncos.
“Bad enough I have a litany of foul language for you,” I said, “But owing to your sensitivities on the matter I’ll refrain.”
“It’s a hairline fracture, best I can determine.” Trini was tender as a mother with a newborn. My leg appreciated. From somewhere in the depths of her backpack she produced a brace. “This is the best I can do.”
“You’re kidding. No muscle relaxants? Bone knitters?”
“Rycole treatments are expensive and tightly controlled. I’m lucky to have the analyzer.” She patted the white, bowl-shaped device she’d set beside me. “Please hold still.”
Easy for her to say. Her knee didn’t feel as if someone were tightening the muscles and bones in a vise. “Aaron, tell me we’re near the LZ.”
“Sure. Near is a relative thing, though. If we were on Chessie, we could get back there in a few minutes. Because it’s fifteen miles.”
My groan had as much to do with the idea of tromping the distance as it did with the actual pain.
“Can he walk?”
“I’m right here, and not dead, and still the captain. I can walk.”
Aaron’s eyebrow raised a whole paragraph’s worth of unspoken questions. I dragged myself upright, using the tree for leverage. Its bark was warm as skin, with a ribbed texture. My fingers left imprints. So, they do trees spongy on Incore. Gently I switched balance from my good leg to its former equal.
Oh, boy.
Aaron shouldered the laser rifle. “We’d better get moving.”
“Captain can’t just dance out of here,” Trini said. “This is a serious injury. I advise strongly against moving him.”
