Symbiosis: Chapter 42

In the dark, Jackson looked down from his precarious roost of branches and leaves eight meters off the forest floor. He caught Dr. Gregory’s eyes from an adjacent tree, looking more or less upward.

“If they saw us they would have shot us,” Tom said. “They are two dimensional thinkers,” he said quietly. “At least their uneducated members, anyway.”

“How long are we gonna stay up here?”

“I’m staying up here until I can see the forest floor again. And so are you, Scott. Don’t go shimmying down and get lost, or eaten, or fall in a mine shaft. I don’t need any more problems on my hands.”

“How can we call Mr. Lee? They took my com button.”

“Mine too,” Tom said. “Smoke signals, I don’t know. Right now I’m hungry and cold and need a few minutes to think.” An icy draft dislodged a few clumps of snow from the branches above, splatting on Tom’s head as they fell to the ground.

“Could be worse,” Scott said. Tom wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Scott was referring to so he pretended he didn’t hear the comment. It could always be worse. Somehow, they’d have to get out of the forest without being spotted, find Mr. Lee or a way to get to one of the other medical stations, and get back to Maria Mitchell. He of course didn’t want to abandon the mission, but he needed to regroup at the very least.

“You think you can get a few zees? I’ll take the first watch,” Tom said.

“I’m more likely to fall out and break my neck. You sleep, Tom. I don’t think I can. Too much adrenaline.”

“You don’t play captain enough or you’d be used to that by now: no sleep, too much adrenaline.”

“I don’t wanna be captain. I’m perfectly happy to follow your crazy butt and map stars and planets and nebulas.”

“And comets.”

“And comets. I’m still looking for Zalara’s Comet.” Tom smiled although in the dark canopy of the forest it was his secret.

“Okay, I’m lodged in here pretty good. Wake me if I’m actually still sleeping here in an hour.”   Tom took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes, but his thoughts circled back to Rianya over and over. A knot in his gut said something was wrong, but he couldn’t name or put finger to it. He shifted a little as another blob of snow dropped on his shoulder. He shifted his jacket as best as he could but it would not become a pillow unless he took it off, which wasn’t about to happen.

Damn Pegasi. They were only interested in keeping their sheep sick with Yersinia so they’d keep purchasing antibiotics for decades to come. He was convinced the plague was intentional and its cure intentionally thwarted. He understood the Pegasi slice of the puzzle but what about the Kiians? Kiians had a reputation for looking out for their own interests but not necessarily at the expense of another species. They weren’t pirates like Pegasi, but entrepreneurs, certainly.

 Tom opened his eyes, startled to wake up in a tree and sprinkled with snow. Eta Cassiopeia would be making its daily appearance in less than an hour if his judgement of the eastern sky was accurate. He glanced down at Scott’s tree and saw only branches. 

“Damn it all,” he muttered. Tom shook off a little wet snow from his hair, looked down, and immediately regretted it. He had to get out of the tree and find his astronomer. One slippery wet branch at a time he climbed down, feeling for each branch with a foot and bouncing a little to test it first. He hoped he was about at the bottom because his grip was giving out on the wet surface.

“Tom!”

His hand slid off the branch, gravity seized him and dropped him hard to the ground from a meter up the trunk.

“Geezes, damn!” Tom shouted, landing on his back with one foot under his butt. “Scott I’m…”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to startle you,” the older man said then held out his hand to help the captain up, grasping him at the elbow. Tom hoisted himself up but his ankle was angry and tender.

“I hope I can walk on this,” he grumbled. Scott shoved his shoulder under Tom’s arm and propped him up on the lame side so they could get moving. “What are you doing up so early? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I called your name and you kept snoring. I wasn’t about to climb your tree and tug on your sleeve. I did think about throwing a rock. Where are we going?”

“Back to the city. We’ll be safer in a crowd, and there’s a hell of a crowd back at the stadium.”

Tom hobbled and Scott ambled across the snowy ground toward the city. Dawn mercifully dawdled on the horizon providing enough light to travel by but plenty of shadows to hide in as well. The stadium loomed but was still a considerable distance ahead. Bright lighting and an angry noise noir reverberated from its core.

“What’s that?” Tom said, stopping to look at something shiny in the distance.

“Where?”

“Over there, in the west, see that?” Scott squinted where Tom pointed. “Is that the Osprey?”

“I think it is!”

They pivoted ninety degrees and headed for the bulky silver cube in the distance. As the dawn gave way to the sunrise, Cinconians began to appear on the streets all meandering in the opposite direction as the humans, to the stadium. Many of them gave the odd pair a long look but the stadium pulled harder.

Tom shook his helper away gently to reduce the number of stares. He limped on the ankle but it drew less attention and that was worth the pain. Who knew if Cinconians were spying or watching for humans that escaped. They knew the Pegasi well from decades of occupation, not so much the suspicious humans that tried to stop their deplorable election process in order to save their lives.

“Captain, Doctor,” came a familiar voice from behind. Both men stopped and turned. Yee Akadar. “What are you doing here in New Hope?”

“I would think we could ask you the same thing,” Tom said. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the UMA medical station?”

“Our games eh done, now our champions come here a New Hope to play against New Hope champions.”

“Who is at the UMA then, the disease? The plague project?”

“No humans stayed. All went with games open day. You travel wrong, come sit at me chairs,” the yee said, tugging on Dr. Gregory’s sleeve.

“Wait,” Tom said. “No humans?”

“No humans with medic stations. All wait for games a finish.” The yee tugged again. “Not come late, go.” Tom understood him enough despite his syntax, or lack of, rather.

“Where did they go?”

“You know not they go?” Tom’s adrenaline began to surge.

“Did they go with anyone? Dr. Adams?”

“They went with ship driver man. Human. I not be late for beginnings. You go not to stadium?”

“Thank you, Akadar, thank you, but we have to get together with our people.”

“Good bye,” Akadar said and hurried on his way to the stadium with the rest of the herd.

“They must be waiting for us,” Scott said, tossing his head at the silver block of metal. Tom nodded and they increased their speed a bit. Tom did his best to hurry and found that he could use his leg like a pendulum to help propel him without putting too much weight on the foot. It was an awkward ambulation but effective. “Are you sure I can’t help?” Tom waved his buddy off, not needing help for a simple twisted ankle. Now had he broken his leg, well, maybe.

It was another kilometer ahead. Tom actually took off his coat, sweating from the effort to walk quickly on one foot. Scott carried both jackets and was careful to point out slick spots of melted snow for Tom to avoid. The grasslands opened onto a clearing covered with fine stone dust, and the silver cube occupied the center. It was not the Osprey. It was Dukvita’s shuttle, twenty meters long, ten wide and fifteen high.

“That’s not good,” Scott said. 

“That’s the one York and I ferried to Dukvita’s ship. Where you see a problem, I see an opportunity. We can get on that ship and sabotage it.”

“Isn’t that kind of, uh, dangerous, if we’re on it?”

“I didn’t say take a ride in it.”

“You want to strand them here?”

“No, I want to strand them in orbit. Come on.” Tom hobbled the last few meters with Scott’s help and they ducked behind a large stone outcropping. The sunlight from Eta Cassiopeia had broken out of the clouds casting long morning shadows as it began to warm the ground. Snow melted and turned surfaces wet. He leaned on the rocks for balance and took some weight off his ankle.

“It’s pretty quiet,” Scott whispered.

“Any Pegasi hanging around?”

“I don’t see anyone, Pegasi or Cinconian. Or human.” Tom’s brain suddenly went into overdrive and was too busy to acknowledge a throbbing ankle. The docking port and hatch were on the port side, and the helm was to the left of the hatch. In the center was the passenger seating, and aft, behind a door, was the cargo and propulsion, something like a bulky personal jet without wings.

“If I can get into the cargo area, I can rig the bay doors to open when gravity comes on. Better yet, trigger a malfunction in propulsion.”

“They have gravity in that little shuttle?”

“Not real gravity, just moon gravity. They have EM gyro spheres under the deck.”

“Why don’t we have those?”

“You can suggest it when we get home. Stay here,” Tom said.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you stay here, that’s an order. And not like an order to think about staying in the tree, you stay here. It’s easier for one to sneak around than two. When I’m done we’ll go find the others.”

“Aye, Capt’n. How long do I wait?” Tom leaned on his good leg and looked back at the man, smiled and frowned at the same time, catching the jacket Scott lobbed at him.

“Until I get back.” He trotted toward the Pegasi shuttle craft darting from boulders to trees along the way. He was on the aft starboard side. Standing tall he scanned the area as far as he could see for any large green people milling with the smaller brown, red, and white ones. For perhaps half a kilometer he saw no one but Cinconians, all heading toward the Stadium of Doom. He stole around to the port side, inched past the hatch to the edge of the bow, glanced in quickly and pulled back out of sight. He looked again for a couple of seconds and decided it was empty.

Tiptoeing back to the hatch he felt the sides where a latch or handle should be. Reaching higher he found a ten centimeter depression and jammed his hand inside. The door obediently slid toward the aft and locked open. A little shot of endorphins volleyed around his body and he slipped inside the dark cabin. A faint odor of chlorine gas made him comically wonder, briefly, if perhaps a swimming pool was on board.

He was in the seating area and to the right was a bulkhead panel. He glanced at the door separating the cabin from the cockpit and listened intently for a few seconds. With no sounds, he pressed against the aft wall and felt for the switch or handle or button that would give him access to the stern. He found a depression at eye level and gave it a tap. Indeed, the door lifted out of its hollow track toward the captain and slid to the right.

Darkness ahead didn’t faze Tom in the least. He jumped inside and the door automatically closed behind him. He hadn’t been prepared for that. A second later the room illuminated automatically and he saw three more doors, one to each side and one at the far end. That would be propulsion, and one of the side doors would be cargo. But what was the third door?

He dashed to the propulsion section and slipped inside. The room was lit, glowing with assorted engineering readouts and gauges, dials, switches, lamps and indicators, much like a mini version of Maria Mitchell’s engine room. He wanted to make sure they could get off the planet, but not easily hook up with the Pegasi interstellar ship, causing them delays so he could complete his mission. If their transportation was damaged, they couldn’t bring their contraband to the planet.

Now he wished he’d learned to read Pegasi. Hatch, hatch, he needed the hatch controls. A diagram led him to a panel on the port side; he jerked the cover off and dropped it, examining the circuits and components inside. Intuition said the return circuit might control the airlock latches since those logically went on first and off last with every docking. He grabbed the board and wiggled it until it came off in his hands. He put the prize in his pocket.

On to the cargo room. He chose the door on the starboard for no particular reason but it was locked tight. Tom jiggled the handle several times, threw his shoulder on the door, then kicked it without victory. He turned to the other door on the port side.

“Przygotować się pierwszy pojemnik,” Tom heard on the other side of the bulkhead and felt his heart nearly stop beating before it started to gallop. He pushed on the port door and it opened easily. He slipped inside and shut the door behind him as fast as he possibly could do so without making any telltale sounds. Lights came on automatically but without motion detected, apparently, they shut off promptly. He heard the bulkhead door clunk and slide open. In the dark he flattened himself against the wall as if he could melt into it. And then the latch on the compartment door rattled.