Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 3. The Falling Star

  PRNA-OGRESS REPORT– Transshipment 99761 – Standard Time 67100 – Transport Ship 280.

  All Drop-ships ejected - jumper ships returned - seventeen jumper ships made planet fall - two jumper ships lost due to EMG pulse induced malfunctions - losses are within acceptable levels - setting course for next scheduled transfers – Departure Micos Standard Time 67101 - Ugro, Commanding.

  END-SHIPMENT REPORTS TO DISPATCH CENTRAL, LAMARCK PRIME.GORN TRANSFERS COMPLETE.PROFIT LEVEL NOMINAL – END.

  The tiny Rock-runner darted in and out of the jagged boulders, trying desperately to remain unseen, too many predators higher up the food chain were about. Instinct screamed, “Hide!” The small lizard was fast, very fast, its rust colored skin, blended with the rocks, as it skittered in bursts, from one hiding place to another.

  Between two medium sized boulders, it paused and turned its large yellow eyes up to the twin suns. They were low on the horizon, with nightfall, would come relief from the heat and the safety of darkness. It could hunt insects, though with one eye wary for any night-flier that might cross its path.

  The little creature settled back between the boulders, to wait in the shadows. Three of the moons made their way across the sky. The Rock-runner watched them, waiting for darkness. The moons crawled across the space between the rocks, then something else moved, something it had never seen before. A streak of fire, brighter than the emerging stars.

  The Dropship was in trouble, its minimal guidance system, had failed shortly after atmospheric entry. Far off course, nowhere near its intended destination of the Pyramid City of the Talsonar, it descended rapidly into the desolate Outlands.

  It was barely maintaining stability, as it roared through the upper levels of the thick envelope of air that surrounded Gorn. Only a miracle, would stop it from crashing like a meteorite into the barren landscape below.

  Inside the Dropship, Andra and Osh hung desperately to the bars of the cage. The interior of the cargo ship was filled with smoke, the heat generated by entering Gorn's atmosphere was extreme.

  Andra turned her eyes away from her new found companion, no longer able to be brave, she felt it was the end. All the bravado, shown throughout her of life was gone.

  She felt alone and afraid, “Is there an Afterlife?” She asked, her voice shaking.

  “We will soon know,” Osh smiled at her and took one of her hands, tightly in his own.

  She squeezed his hands in return.

  The Callaxion could not resist making a pronouncement, “Did you know that of the estimated seven hundred and thirty seven thousand inhabited worlds of the Outer Rim. Most of the advanced civilizations, believe in an Afterlife of one kind or another? I would consider those, very good odds that Gods do exist, in some form or another. Therefore, it stands to reason, they could be watching us right now.” The idea seemed to give the old man some comfort but Andra did not appear at all interested in the odds.

  “I am sorry if I talk too much,” the old man said softly, “but such is my nature.”

  The ship burned like a falling torch, pieces of its outer hull breaking off and streaking up past it. The heat shield could fail at any second, the outer fire would then consume those within.

  Andra looked at the other prisoners in their cage, like her, most seemed afraid. A few closed their eyes, simply waiting for their end to come, one or two stared numbly into infinity.

  One great Ogarian, began to laugh, his warlike race, often faced death this way. Andra was human and as with most humans, she wondered what lay ahead. Would it be the paradise many believed, or would it be fire and pain? Momentarily, she wished, she'd spent more time, finding answers to some, of the questions, now filling her head but there hadn't been time. She held Osh's hand tighter, trying to take her mind off, the smoke and heat.

  “What were you saying about the Afterlife?” she asked the old man.

  Osh smiled at her, “Well. I was saying that, with so many cultures believing in an all-powerful being, it is really quite difficult, not to accept the hypothesis that some such beings do exist. I once had a conversation with an Ungary, who stated most emphatically, it had once, actually met a God. It told me, she was a rather short female of their species, with many more breasts than normal for an Ungary female.” He laughed, “Then again, we all know, what liars the Ungary can be!” Osh smiled quizzically, “It is strange, how all sophists lie, it is part of being intelligent I suppose, a survival trait, perhaps?”

  With the ground rapidly approaching, the Drop-ship glowed brighter than the brightest of the planets and stars in the night sky. The ship fell through the many layers of atmosphere, thin upper clouds, then heavier ones, until it was a few thousand feet from the surface. A few more pieces of heat shield broke loose but the flames were gone. A loud, buckling sound came from the vessel's hull. With a sudden jerk of deceleration, the air brakes deployed, the Dropship stabilized and slowed its descent, from a headlong fall to a gentler glide. Inside, the sudden change in speed and direction, had slammed the cargo wildly about, once again there were screams and wails. Several of the cages, had come loose, they slammed into other cages, coming to rest at crazy angles.

  The unlucky cargo, in those cages, were mostly killed or badly injured. One cage tumbled end over end along the side of the Drop-ship, slamming against the hull, the cage broke open. One corner of the cage, broke a power cable, a burst of sparks, followed by flame, shot from the shorted circuit. The dim lights flickered once, then went out.

  In the sudden darkness, Andra still held tightly onto the old man's hand, waiting silently for whatever was to come. The Drop-ship gave an occasional bone-rattling jolt, its tortured frame at its limit, as the vessel turned in a wide descending arc.

  Over the screams of the terrified cargo, Andra could hear the rush of air coming from the outside of the hull.

  A wild animal scream, filled the night air, the Rock-runner retreated farther into the space between the boulders.

  The Drop-ship hit hard, the angle, shallow enough that it skipped back up into the air, after plowing through several dozen feet of loose sand and soil and kicking up a huge cloud of dust. Somehow, it cleared a medium-sized hillock by a foot or less, to land in the shallow valley just beyond, then, almost gently, it slid to a stop.

  A dark plume of smoke and dust arose, marking the trail of the Drop-ship across the Outland's landscape. The ship rocked back and forth for a moment, then lay still, creaking and popping, as the metal hull and frame, cooled in the night air.

  After about a minute, the Rock-runner mustered enough courage, to emerge from its hiding place. The landscape had changed, the Drop-ship wrapped in a shroud of black oily smoke, rested very close to its hiding place.

  The creatures of Gorn survived, because they never missed an opportunity. If there was shelter, they made it their own, if there was water, they drank it, if there was food, they ate it.

  As the Rock-runner sniffed at the smell of the smoking Drop-ship, its instincts told it there was food, it raced quickly to the wreck. Sniffing about for a moment, it found an opening and entered.

  The strange object, was dark and filled with dust and smoke but the Rock-runners large yellow eyes, could make out the many dead and almost dead creatures. It moved cautiously from cover to cover, as was its nature. Finding a small piece of crimson flesh, it grabbed the tasty morsel, then retreated into the safety of a dark corner.

  Pain, waves of pain! Andra awoke to the feeling that her head might explode, she sat up and looked about; am I still alive?

  For a moment she waited, taking inventory of what she felt. Her mind turned to the endless stories, she had heard, about what happens after you die. Some believed in a garden of pleasures, for the righteous, or a flaming pit, for those who were unfaithful. Some worlds, believed you just went on another cycle of birth and death, for all eternity. Others taught that your soul simply melded with the stars and you became a knower of all things.

  Stupi
dly, Andra thought her head was filled with stars. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of light, they came and went with the waves of fierce pain that hit her when she moved her aching head.

  More pain!

  After moments of muddled thought, Andra felt confident that in the Afterlife, her head would not hurt. Andra decided, somewhat reluctantly, she must still be alive. She touched her head and smelt her hand, to see if she was bleeding. The wet iron smell of blood was not there.

  A soft silver light, shone through a large hole in the ship's hull, Andra’s eyes adjusted to the darkness as she looked about.

  Someone near her moaned, the old man had also survived. The dead body of the massive Ogarian, had a jagged piece of hull metal, protruded from its back. It lay on top of Osh pinning him against the side of the tilted cage, everyone else in the cage was dead. Osh moved a little but he was too weak, to free himself from beneath the huge creature. Andra crept to his side and observed his breathing, he did not seem seriously injured. Moving him would be a risky, nevertheless, remaining in the smoldering Drop-ship, was far more dangerous.

  With all her strength, Andra pushed the dead weight, of the fallen Ogarian from Osh.

  She lifted the old man up and held him by his thin shoulders, “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” the old man grumbled, “but I am a sight better, than our late traveling companion here.” He poked the Ogarian’s corpse with a nail less finger, “I think we should try to remove ourselves from this place.”

  He pulled himself up as best he could and checked himself over, straightening his tattered robe and cloak, as he did so.

  The bars of the cage, had bent just enough in the crash landing that they could squeeze between them. Andra's head throbbed as she staggered to the bars.

  “Quickly,” she said, motioning to Osh, to follow her.

  Of course quickly! If I can move at all; Osh thought. He staggered with his first step and nearly lost his footing. Andra grabbed him and held on, together, they made their way carefully between the bars, then to the hole where the Drop-ship's hull had split and out into the still night.

  Outside, the air was cool and still, Andra struggled to help the old man, walk through the soft sand, where the Drop-ship had come to rest. She was determined to get them both to safety, her head spun, she felt, as if she might faint at any moment.

  Somehow, she stayed on her unruly feet without letting go of Osh, until they reached a pile of rocks, out of the sand and safely clear of the burning wreck. Andra fell to the sand, the old man collapsing next to her. She tried to catch her breath, her head felt worse, her vision was blurred but they were alive! Osh moaned, coughed, rolled over and opened his eyes, “Are we dead?” he asked weakly.

  “Not yet,” she answered, with more conviction than she actually felt; why aren't we dead? Is the old man right about the Gods having a purpose for us? She wondered. She scanned the barren landscape, nothing moved beneath the light of three moons and a myriad of stars. “I don't think we're going to have to wait very long, to see if that Ungary you mentioned was telling the truth.”

  She looked at the wrecked Drop-ship, it was burning even more, a column of highly visible smoke, billowed up into the dark sky. The smell of burning flesh, filled the dry night air.

  Osh stared at the remains of the ship, as it burned; we were lucky it was only powered by fuel cells. If it had carried an actual drive unit, or null-grav generator, the power cells would have breached and there would be a radiation filled crater.

  Gorn already, had many such craters, the land about them, useless for hunting or anything else, peopled by mutants and forgotten exiles. Only those dared to make their homes in the forbidden places.

  Andra lay back in the soft sand, her back leaning against a medium sized boulder. She felt too weak, to ever move from that spot. She looked up at the stars and let her mind drift off to other places, to better things.

  She had been a soldier on Selcarie, one of the millions, who volunteered to defend their home world, against the invader. The reason for the war, she had never really understood. The Selcarie claimed self-defense, the invaders, swore they were keeping outsiders from encroaching onto their space ways and trading rights.

  Andra had decided long ago, the details did not really matter. If she did not fight, she would die just the same, so she enlisted. Trained as one more soldier, to her surprise, Andra turned out to be, a very good combat soldier. She rose quickly through the ranks, a battlefield commission as Lieutenant, quickly turned into Captains’ rank, with it, the command of a small of commando unit. Her troopers fought valiantly but in the end, Andra, her commando and her world, were defeated, conquered. She was captured, evaluated, processed, then offered the choice of re-education, honorable termination or exile to Gorn. Re-education, was a euphemism for a life in the Caldranium mines, or as a Pleasure Girl, in one of the Conqueror's Comfort Camps. The Death Squad, or “Honorable Termination” as the diplomats called it, just seemed too messy for her taste. She could not see herself, winding up in a pit with hundreds of others. Once a proud, competent soldier, part of an army of millions, she was now just a scarred young woman in an unknown land.

  The old man appeared to have fallen asleep, Andra closed her eyes and waited for the same blessing, to come to her. For a moment, she thought she ought to pray, she tried to decide, to which of the God’s, it might be best to offer a prayer. Tobar? Not well known but he was said to like soldiers. Perhaps the Twin Gods, Vol and Rol? They always bickered, too wrapped up in their eternal dialogue, too hard to get their attention. So many Gods, so many! Before she could make up her mind, blackness engulfed her.

  The heavy column of smoke and fire from the burning ship, was like a beacon in the vast emptiness of the Outlands. The people of the deserts, knew better than to build large fires. Far too many sharp eyes, were watching, Waste-wanderers, Shadow-men and worse. Safer by far to remain hidden, to not draw any attention, to travel by night, when alone in the Outlands. The youngest of the Nomads, knew to dig a hole in which to build their small fire, or to use a Washa, the clay fire pot. To always use, the driest of wood, never to make black smoke that lingered in the sky, like a finger pointing down from the heavens, to where you lay waiting.

  The smoke from the burning wreck of the Drop-ship, had caught the attention of a troop of Sandjar, bone gatherers. Small scavenger humanoids, the Sandjar survived in the desert, feeding off the carcasses they searched out. They made use of the dead beasts, in all manner of ways, bones were used to construct their small huts, hides to cover the shelters. Bones ground into meal, was their staple food, rotting meat was consumed with relish as a delicacy. They left nothing of what they found.

  The Sandjar were short, slight, with a green hue to their skin, hidden beneath the animal skins that protected them from the harsh wind and sun. Sandjar had a distinctive, strong odor, particularly unpleasant to the Nomads. They preferred moving by dark, their eyes adapted to Gorn's night. The light of a single moon to a Sandjar, was as day to most creatures of Gorn. Sandjar could track a dead carcass, for twenty miles with their noses, which were as sharp as the four rows of razor-like teeth that lined their slit-like, lipless mouths. Able to tear carrion from bone with ease, or inflict a nasty bite on living prey. Sandjar spoke a primitive, guttural tongue, as well as using sign language and body gestures, when forced to communicate with one of the other races of Gorn.

  Wary and suspicious of others, the Sandjar were the scavengers of the Outlands, carrion eaters who followed after battles, storms, or other calamities. Restless, always moving, searching, their small troops roamed the Outlands ceaselessly. This particular tribe had not fed in many days, the acrid smoke from the Drop-ship was a signal from their Dark Gods that precious food, lay very close to hand.

  Og, leader of the troop, stood a head taller than most of the others. Perhaps four feet tall, with long legs and arms, his sensitive nose, caught the smell of death in the morning wind. Death from
a great distance, death where the smoke lingered in the still night sky, clear to his eyes, against the bright stars.

  Og was no better, or worse, than most Sandjar leaders. He was very proud of his many strong Offspring, over the cycles, he had mated many times. Though most of the offspring, had died young, enough survived, to make him proud. Sandjar females were offspring producing machines, nothing more. Males were intelligent, hunters, the females bred, bore and suckled the Offspring, they drove the troop's carts, when on the move.

  Og stared hungrily at the dark smoke from beyond the dunes. It was but a few miles distant, his stomach rumbled. He grunted and moved his claw-like right hand, to indicate to the others that they should head for the smoke. With answering grunts and high pitched squeals of anticipation, the troop began to move.

  Twenty in all, a close knit family, each member with a job to do. They piled into their few small bone-carts, then Og gave the signal to march. The small desert Trofar that pulled the carts, snorted and complained, as they labored in the soft sand.

  It took but a short time for the Sandjar, to reach the dead Dropship. Eagerly they jumped from their carts, dancing about in pleasure, at such a fabulous find. This was a great treasure, a whole ship of food and Off-World supplies that would sustain them for months. Trade goods! Of the hundreds of Sandjar bands that roamed the Outlands, perhaps, only one or two troops a year, might find such a trove. Even then, other troops had often, picked the wrecks nearly clean.

  This time they were first!

  Shouting and dancing, Og's troop, beat their heads upon the ground, in wonder and thanks, at their good fortune.

  Og was overjoyed! His family was going to live a while longer and live well. After frugal living for months, now they would feast until their bellies stretched. For a time there would be no worry about food, here was all the meat they could want. He could smell it, the sweet scent, wafting to his hungry nose, from within the Drop-ship's cracked and fire-blackened hull.

  Walking slowly towards the wreckage, he looked carefully about the small valley. The smell of burning flesh was wonderful, his stomach rumbled again. He smiled, turned and gestured to the others, time to gather the harvest.

  Soon the strong males, gathered bodies and placed them outside the wreck, there, they were dismembered by the females. The Drop-ship was still very hot, parts of it would have to wait, until the still smoldering fire had died out. Still, there was more meat than could be eaten immediately. Og chewed on a morsel of some large Outer-Rim creature and watched from atop a pile of jagged rocks. From his vantage point, he directed the others and watched the horizon, for any sign of interlopers.

  As the bodies were torn down to manageable pieces and loaded into the waiting carts, the troop members hungrily, stuffed succulent meat into their mouths. The offspring, grabbed at whatever the adults dropped, fighting amongst themselves, for the choicer pieces.

  Og shouted down at them, the offspring stopped their chattering arguments. There would be plenty for all to eat later!

  Now there was work to be done, work that must be done quickly, soon others would come, others who were stronger, hungrier. Og’s little band would be driven off.

  The Offspring went back to gathering the smaller portions of the bodies. Though the smell of the fresh meat, was hard for them to resist, they feared Og's teeth more, they worked swiftly under his watchful eyes. Andra and Osh, had not been seen yet, the Sandjar, were far too busy, to have spotted them, in their hiding place.

  When the Sandjar first approached the wreck, the creak of their carts and bellows of the Trofar, had awakened Andra. She slowly opened her eyes and sat up, it took her a moment, to realize their danger. In the moonlight, she saw the small creatures in their odd little carts, a few hundred yards away. Osh and Andra, were still hidden in the shadow of the rocks, unseen by the approaching Scavengers.

  She awakened Osh, with a hurried shake of his shoulder.

  He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion, “Are we dead?” he asked, weakly.

  “No, but if we're not careful, we soon will be, look out there!” She boosted him up a little, to better see what approached.

  “I see what you mean,” said the old man, “You had better leave me, try to make it on your own.”

  Andra thought about it for a second, she would surely have a better chance on her own. Somehow she could not bring herself, to abandon the only person, who had shown her any kindness on this hellish journey.

  She shook her head and smiled wryly, “No thanks! I hate traveling alone.” She pulled him with her, back into the hiding place, deep within the rock pile. The rock pile atop which, Og now perched, directing his troop in their grisly task.

  Four moons of Gorn, now shone overhead, making it easy for the bone gatherers, to see what they were about. Night creatures, gifted with large golden eyes, the night and darkness, was their true element. They could not smell anything that lived, the smell of burnt flesh was too strong, masking all other scents. Although any survivors, would not live long, once discovered. The effort of pulling Osh and herself, back into the rock formation, made Andra’s head reel with pain, it slowly faded into mere dizziness. She sat beside Osh, her head on her knees, “I think we might be safe here,” she whispered.

  The old man pondered this for a moment; why does she help me? “You should go, I am not worth much, certainly not your life,” he sighed, “There is so little of me left, I do not think, they would go to the trouble of eating me.”

  “True, you're not much of a meal but you seem to bring me good luck,” she joked, “We need more than just luck but right now, it’s all we have.”

  “Luck is not, real, did you know? It’s nothing more than random conjunctions that occasionally converge, to give random individuals, the sensation of being favored,” Osh closed his eyes.

  Andra raised her throbbing head from her knees and looked up warily. She was about to speak, when her eyes focused, she realized, the leader of the bone gathers, was staring directly into their hiding place, straight into her face.

  It seemed that their sensation of being favored, their luck, had just run out.

  Many miles to the South, another pair or eyes watched the heavens.

  It had been a long day and Tamar-Ran was angry that many of the Drop-ships had not safely arrived. He knew, he would have to answer to the Governor, for the missing cargo. He did not look forward to the meeting. They collected the cargo with haste, he did not wish to be at an even greater disadvantage, when the Governor received the news of the missing Drop-ships.

  He examined once more, the ripped hull of the nearby Dropship. At least some cargo, from this one, was salvageable. The engines, had been torn off in the descent and a small fire, burned in the smashed tail section. He could hear voices from the air ports, which opened automatically on impact. The creatures inside, were making plaintive noises, wailing and screaming, as usual. That meant, not all the cargo was dead, unlike the last Drop-ship they found.

  That Drop-ship had split open on impact, cages were strewn about the soft sand, here and there, the remains of a body or two but nothing of much value. Tamar-Ran had decided to leave those for the Rock-runners and Sandjar, rather than waste valuable time, searching for any who still breathed.

  It was getting late, he wanted to return to the city, as soon as possible, he knew his men, did not like being outside the city at night. The Drop-ships that had made it to their designated landing zones, had already been unloaded. This was the last one they had found.

  He turned to his second in command, “I want the living cargo gathered up quickly. Leave the dead.”

  The second in command, saluted wearily, he relayed the Commanders orders, to the Recovery Team.

  Tamar-ran was of the Talsonar, the Pyramid City dwellers. Their homes were the great stone pyramids that stood on the horizon. Tall and thickly built, with a hairy, leonine face, Tamar was known throughout the cities for his calculating nature. He had worked his way up, from underworld worker, to
Captain of the Enforcers. He had broken many skulls to get to his high position and breaking a few more to keep it, was as nothing to him. Like most of the Talsonar, Tamar-Ran had come to Gorn, as just another piece of cargo. A criminal on his home world, he had been sentenced to exile, on this small slice of hell. Sent to the depths of the Pyramid Cities underworld, to work, maintaining the great machines that gave it life. He had vowed not to end his days in the darkness.

  First as a Head-breaker, doing the guard's dirty work, later as a leader in one of the more ruthless gangs, of that literal underworld, he worked his way up. After many years of fighting, dark struggles and assassinations, he made himself a person of power. He lived in the light again but still, deep inside him, the darkness gnawed.

  He sat upon a broken hull plate and took a sip of water from a clay jug. With yellow eyes, he gazed at the signal light, on the apex of the nearest pyramid, flickering against the night sky. For a moment, he allowed himself, to wish he was back there now. He would have dearly loved, a good mug of Marsh-beer, rather than this bitter and warm, well water but it would have to wait.

  He watched as his men, loaded the captives into the transport carts. The creatures sniffed nervously at the night air, they looked up at the strange sky, docilely they obeyed the commands and cracking whips of the Enforcers.

  Soon the carts were full, with fresh, strong workers, to replace those who had died, Humans, Yangmar, even three or four Ugarians!

  Tamar-Ran felt a bit better, despite the loss of the other Drop-ships, the Governor would be pleased to have more Ugarians. Not to mention, it really was no fault of his, he couldn't be held responsible for the failure of those damned Markins, to make good on their promises. Maybe the Governor would see his side, maybe he would be reasonable. Tamar-Ran had done the Governor more than a few favors. Troublesome people had disappeared, with no bothersome loose ends to raise questions. The Governor might remember some of them.

  Tamar-Ran also remembered the last time he had returned, without all the cargo the Markin had promised. The memory put him back into his foul mood.

  “If they're too weak to move, leave them!” He shouted suddenly to his men, “By all the Gods who ever thirsted, I need a drink!”

  Tamar-Ran looked up at the night sky, at the four risen moons. He despised the black veil of night, he had been underground for so many years that if he never saw darkness again, it would be a blessing. He took another drink of the warm, bitter water, then spat it out onto the sand. Water! Which God made water? May he drown in it; he thought.

  He turned to scream at his men, once more, then thought better of it. This world was not his, it never would be, right now, he would have traded the whole stinking planet, for one cool tankard of cold Marsh-beer.