UNAUHORIZED LIFEFORMS
Skink was furious. Nothing had gone right from the moment they’d docked at Demeter. First, Raynor had bumbled the controls at the entry port. And when Skink had yelled at him to hurry the clot up, he’d drawn his sidearm and shot the lock off.
It must’ve been booby-trapped, because the lock had exploded, metal pieces barely missing Skink. He’d drawn back his booted foot to give Raynor a well-deserved kick in the rear, except his chief-aide and right-hand man for lo these many had a metal spear sticking out of his face plate.
It had hit him square between the eyes.
His death ticked Skink off to no end because now he was stuck with Gurnsey as his number two. Gurnsey was a native of the Paludicar system. Tall, burly, humanoid in form, he had two long eyestalks that moved restlessly, a mouth like a crab’s and one large claw that could cut a steel-bar in two, and a smaller arm with finger-like appendages.
Gurnsey wasn’t exactly stupid, but he had no imagination and a violent temper that exploded at the slightest provocation. A sick feeling rose in Skink’s belly as he looked at him now.
The real pity of it was that Gurnsey was by far the best being to take over for Raynor. The others weren’t good for much beyond killing of the simplest kind.
And now here Skink was, exhausted after walking for nearly thirty klicks with at least another hundred or so to go before he reached his goal. He was also thirsty as hell.
Like his troops, he’d foolishly gone through all the water he’d brought along. His map showed a river six or seven klicks beyond, but at the moment he didn’t have the energy to hoist himself off the tree stump he’d squatted upon when he’d called a halt.
Gurnsey rattled his claw to get his attention. He looked up at his new second and noted with disgust that he looked as fresh as when they’d started out. Skink came from a hardy race, but it took a lot longer for a second wind to cut in. Even so, he was resentful of Gurnsey’s cheerful display of energy.
“Yeah, Gurnsey. What’cha got on that little bean you call a mind?”
“I was thinkin’, Skipper, that ever’body looked pretty thirsty,” Gurnsey said. “Me, I don’t mind. Paludicarians don’t use up as much water as other folks.”
“So?” Skink said, almost spitting.
“So, what if I was to go on ahead to that river and fetch water back?” He held up a couple of knapsacks with his smaller arm and rattled it. “I already collected a bunch’a empty canteens.”
Skink’s eyes widened. It never occurred to him that Gurnsey had enough smarts to come up with a plan of any sort that required thinking beyond the next fifteen minutes.
“Good idea, Gurnsey,” he said. “You go on ahead. We’ll rest here a bit more, then set off after you.”
“Sure thing, Skipper.”
He started off, but Skink called to him. “I’m warning you, Gurnsey, if you lose your temper like you did last time I’ll rip your head off and drakh in your neck.”
Gurnsey’s crab-like mouth drooped, as did his eyestalks.
“I’m sorry, Skip,” he said. “But that ’bot was disrespectin’ me. And one thing I can’t abide is disrespect.”
“For clot’s sake,” Skink said, almost losing his temper. “It was just a stupid ’bot spouting programmed directions. How could it possible disrespect you?”
Gurnsey’s non-existent chin came up defiantly. “It called me an unauthorized life form, is what it done,” he said. “Us Paludicarians are as authorized as anybody else and I won’t hear nobody say otherwise.”
“But that’s not what it meant, Gurnsey,” Skink said. “All it was doing was—” He stopped midsentence. What was the use? “Go on,” he said. “Get the clottin’ water and come back.”
“Yessir, Skipper,” Gurnsey said, and strode off for the river.
Skink stared after him. It was Gurnsey’s fault they were all afoot. He should have killed him then, but necessity intervened. He thought back to the incidents that had set off a very unfunny comedy of errors.
After dealing with Raynor’s body—by giving it a kick and sending it sailing off into space—Skink and his party had entered Demeter’s main chamber. At first there were only a few winking lights over by a bank of monitors, but they’d gone no more than a few steps when the whole chamber came alive.
Lights blazed on every wall, computers beeped into life and ’bots began scrambling about. Moving along the main floor to tinker with machinery, including the array of transports parked in their bays.
Some scrambled along the catwalks that climbed the walls, doing what, Skink didn’t know. He also heard a myriad of whispering voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying, or even what language they were using.
“Here, you, Bonser,” he said to one of his people. “Get some of those transports going.” He looked around, mentally calculating. “We’ll need eight, maybe ten.”
“Aye, Cap,” Bonser said and set off with several other pirates.
About then Anthofelia made her entrance, along with a squad of her warrior women, their arms bared to show off their Sharkwire tattoos.
She planted herself in front of Skink, two of her women—Nalene and Yatola at her side.
“What happened out there?” she demanded, nodding in the direction of the spoiled lock.
Skink shrugged. “An accident,” he said.
“Humph,” Anthofelia said. “I hope you spoke harshly to the incompetent who caused that. We don’t want any more accidents.”
“He’s dead,” Skink, said and started to turn away.
Anthofelia’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she said. Then she regained her composure. “We’ll be requiring at least three transports for me and my warriors and their gear,” she said.
“No problem,” Skink said. “Looks there’s plenty to go around. Pick what you like.”
Nodding at Gurnsey to follow, he turned on his heels and headed over to an alcove with an “Entrance” sign overhead.
To his surprise, he found Gregor and Mitzi already there, looking over the posters mounted on the wall.
Immense double doors barred their entrance to the agworld. A large sign read:
DECONTAMINATION CHAMBER
All Non-native Lifeforms And Objects
Must Undergo Type R676 Decontamination.
“I wonder what Type R676 means?” Mitzi asked.
Gregor said, “I don’t know about this. “I’m allergic to a lot of stuff. I could go into anaphylactic shock or something.”
Gurnsey’s eyestalks wriggled nervously. “What kind of shock is ana-phyl—well, whatever you were talkin’ about?”
“It can cause all kinds of things,” Mitzi said. “I had a girlfriend who was allergic to peanuts. One day it got into her food somehow, and she started wheezing, and sneezing and an ugly rash broke out all over her. She vomited a couple of times, then she just sort of keeled over and fell on the floor.”
Gurnsey’s took an involuntary step back. “She passed out?”
Mitzi shook her head. “No, she was dead.”
“Peanuts killed her?” he almost squeaked.
Mitzi snapped her fingers. “Just like that.” She shook her head. “Folks can be allergic to all sorts of things and never know it until they stumble on something they never bumped into before. Food. Makeup. Perfume. You never can tell. There’s tests you can do to check it out, but they’re kind of involved.”
Gurnsey’s eyestalks swept the various posters. “Don’t see nothin’ about no tests,” he said. “Or what that R676 drakh is.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Skink said.
“Yeah, but my mom had a lot of allergies,” Gurnsey said. “And I got sick once when I was a kid just eatin’ a couple of eggs.” He rubbed his belly. “It was awful.”
Skink ignored him. He turned a wheel set into the wall next to the doors. As they slid soundlessly aside, Gurnsey took a big step back.
The doors revealed a large empty chamber with nozzles set into the walls, ceiling and deck.
“Looks like some kind of spraying system,” Skink said.
A large wheel was set into the wall. Above it were posters with printed directions.
“To start the process,” he said, “it looks like we just turn this.”
He looked back. Bonser and the others were rolling out several transports. Some were already fired up and lifting off the deck. Anthofelia’s people were boarding one of the vehicles.
“Let’s get started,” Skink said, reaching for the wheel.
“Maybe not so fast, Cap,” he said. “Let’s check it out.”
“Oh, nonsense,” Skink said. “Come on, we gotta get going.”
But as he reached for the wheel, Gurnsey’s big claw blocked his hand.
“Just let me get a gander for a sec,” he pleaded. “I don’t want any of that antha shock stuff happen’ to me.”
Skink sighed. “GA” he said. “But make it snappy.”
Gurnsey strode to the other side of the chamber where a large steel lever controlled a second set of immense doors. He tugged at it with his big claw . Nothing happened. He gave it another mighty tug, this time bending the lever.
A voice boomed from a speaker set into the ceiling: “You are an unauthorized life form. Please step back from the door.”
Gurnsey looked up at the speaker. His mottled green-gray face with was twisted in fury. His crab-like mouth gnashed its teeth.
“Who you callin’ a unauthorized life form, you dirty clot?” he yelled.
Again he yanked at the lever, bending it more.
Alarms started to blare. More speakers buzzed into life.
“Warning, warning,” they cried. “Demeter is under attack by unauthorized life forms.”
“That’s it,” Gurnsey said. “I won’t be disrespected like that. I’m as good a life form as anybody else.”
“Stop it, Gurnsey,” Skink shouted. “That’s just a—“
But Gurnsey didn’t stop. Instead he took a firm hold of the lever with his massive claw, set his feet, and ripped it off its mounts. He muscled the doors open and light exploded into the chamber.
Then another, louder voice called out, “Initiate security procedure Zebra Echo Charlie 355.”
Then a countdown began: “5, 4, 3, 2—Initiate security procedure.”
And with that all but a few of the lights in the main chamber winked off. All the ’bots came to a halt, freezing in the middle of whatever task they had been performing.
Worst of all, the engines of the vehicles went silent, sinking slowly to the ground. Their grav units inoperable.
“Ah drakh!” Skink said.
In one smooth motion, he drew his sidearm and aimed it at Gurnsey. “You just can’t seem to listen,” he said.
But before he could shoot, Gurnsey said, “Please, boss. I messed up. I admit it. But that thing was disrespectin’ me.”
“Damn, you are stupid,” Skink said.
Then he hesitated. Gurnsey might be stupid, but he was the best fighter among his troop. And now that the drakh had hit the fan, he might very well need him. And he thought, I can always kill him later.
He sighed and lowered his pistol. “Okay,” he said. “But if you screw up again, you are a dead son of a scrote.”
“Gotcha, Cap,” a relieved Gurnsey said.
“Now now get those doors open the rest of the way,” Skink ordered.
Gurnsey hurried to the doors and with much grunting and groaning he got them open.
Anthofelia came hurrying over, flanked by her aides.
“What the clot is going on?” she said. “All the transports are inoperable.”
Skink’s belly did a flip flop and his heart started racing like crazy. With a great deal of effort he brought himself under control. Skink was pathologically incapable of admitting error. And if he ever were to admit such a thing, he’d never do it front of this trumped up princess.
“I guess we’ll have to walk,” he said.
Anthofelia was aghast. “Walk?” she cried. “It is a hundred and forty kilometers to the Command Center.”
“Guess we’d best be going then,” Skink said.
And he grabbed his knapsack and weapons and headed into the bright arclight.
* * * *
Skink closed his eyes. He was in a tough spot and didn’t have all that much time. There was no telling when the Imperial ship would return with reinforcements.
Much as he hated to admit weakness to his fellow captains he needed to speed things up. He had several old ground transports stowed on his ship. Barnid and Manzil likely had a few of their own. The problem was that they’d insist on joining him, which would lead to arguments over larger shares.
After a brief inner war between greed and pragmatism, he finally gave in. Slid his comm from its holster on his belt.
He’d start with his own ship, the Swagman. He tapped the entry. There was slight buzzing sound, but nothing more. Frowning, he tried again. Still nothing. What the clot? Were they all off partying on the Jubilee?
His blood started to boil. He’d left strict orders that not one member of the crew—other than the ones assigned to the security pool—was to set foot on that ship until the mission was over. When he got back he’d line them all up and then…
He broke off. This was a useless exercise. Skink tried Manzil next. He was a hard nose and kept a firm grip on his crew. But when he tapped the entry all he got was the same buzzing sound.
His heart started to hammer. What the clot was going on here? Okay. Calm down. Surely Barnid would answer.
Once again there was no reply.
Desperate, he broke all of his own security rules and entered in a special “All Ships” security code. This number was unshielded, so anyone could overhear his communication. And they’d also get a fix on his location. But he was so desperate he ignored his own rules.
There was a click. He smiled. Another click. The smile grew. He was getting through.
And then he yanked the unit away as an earthly howl blasted his ear. It was so loud that the others turned their heads to see. He chopped it off.
Anthofelia called over to him. “What’s wrong Skink? What was that noise?”
He opened his mouth to lie. To tell her nothing was clotting wrong and to mind her own clotting business.
But just then Mitzi and Gregor strolled up. “Say, Skink,” Gregor said, “I’ve been meaning to ask. Why don’t we call the other captains and have them send down a few transports? It’d save us a long walk.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Anthofelia said. “Here, hang on. Let me call my ship.”
She tapped her comm. Listened. Then frowned.
““Nobody’s answering,” she said. “What could be wrong?”
“There’s nobody there, is what’s wrong,” Skink growled. He held up his own comm.
“I tried every swinging scrote,” he said. “And nobody answered. It’s like they all vanished.”
“What’ll we do?” Gregor wailed.
Disgusted, Skink lumbered to his feet. “The only thing we can do,” he said, “is to take control of Demeter before the Imperials do show up. We’ll lash her to the tugs and get the clot out of here just as fast as we clotting can.”
There were shouted protests and confused noises, but Skink paid them no mind.
“Let’s go,” he said, shouldering his pack and heading off toward the river.
Anthofelia tapped her comm again, hoping to get Father Huber. He’d know what to do. Her eyes widened as a small robotic-type voice buzzed in her ear.
“You are an unauthorized life form. Please disconnect your unit and return to the Transport Center.” She stared at her comm. Tried again. The same voice, with the same message repeated itself.
She looked around. The others, including her own Nalene and Yatola were staring at their comms, bewildered looks on their faces.
A short distance away Gregor was talking to Mitzi.
“I can’t get through to Dad,” he said. “And I’m using that special unit he gave me. It can get through anything. But all I’m getting is some creepy message saying I’m an unauthorized life form.”
Mitzi lowered her own comm and stuffed it into her pocket.
“How about you?” he asked.
Mitzi sighed and shook her head. “Dead as dead can be,” she lied.