Day Twenty ∞ Wednesday morning
SWERVING, JAGG NARROWLY MISSED the last jeep, pulled his Z1 900 out of a skid, and hit a rise in the ground so hard he lost his cap and his footing on the pegs. His grip tightened on the low handlebars, twisting the accelerator by accident. The motor revved and his legs swept back to a searing pain on his right calf as it slid against the hot four-to-one exhaust muffler. Clenching his jaw, he plowed out of the dense, swirling dust over the bumpy terrain and regained his foothold.
The rear wheel slipped into a rut and spun, kicking up more dust and stones. Jagg cursed and pushed his foot against the ground, helping it to find purchase. It had never occurred to him he'd be needing off-road tires. Now he'd lost track of how far he'd strayed from the dirt road.
Where is she? Breathing hard, he slowed the bike into a turn to scan the chaotic rumble of military jeeps peeking every now and again out of the dust storm they created. The higher-pitched roar of Lora's bike came in spurts but he couldn't see her. As he contemplated whether he should turn back for her, she shot out of the melee and raced up the road, trailed by a small plume. Relieved, Jagg circled and headed in her direction, bouncing over stones and endless lumps of dry desert grass.
Far ahead, Lora paused and looked for him, and he waved for her to go on. As she took off, he accelerated and dove into a wide excavation furrowed with wheel tracks.
Damn! He spun the bike around, kicking up dust. So this was how they'd been hiding out, practically buried into the desert floor. A large camouflage netting covered the heaped side facing his and Lora's approach. No wonder he hadn't seen them.
He exited the dugout via the slope and recovered his bearings. Lora was still up ahead on the road. A glance back assured him the jeeps were still busy. Whatever they were up to, he wasn't going to hang around to find out.
Jagg closed in on Lora, weaving his way across the rising terrain. A wide mound loomed ahead. Leaning over the super-bike handlebars with straight back, shoulders square, he hit it with enough speed to launch into the air. He flexed his legs, prepared to absorb the impact of landing. The bike landed hard on the other side, and he was still standing on the footpegs as he swung onto the road.
It wasn't long before he registered the shimmy between his knees. Damn. He tugged the bandana off his face and glanced at the rear wheel. Upgraded or not, his ride would need some serious servicing after this. The rear shocks must be shot for sure. Maybe he should just buy a new bike—he could afford that now.
He pulled up next to Lora and looked over his shoulder. All he could see of the ambush in the distance was the dust cloud.
"Well," he met her gaze, grinning, "that was interesting. Why did you stop?" He lifted a brow at her. "I told you to go on."
"I wanted to make sure..." She frowned as she surveyed the way ahead.
"What—those fuckers rigged another welcome party for you?"
"No," she said pensively. "They guard my vessel."
"Then go. You're the one with the A S A P." He leaned over to grab her chin and give her a quick, hard kiss. "I'm right behind you."
∞
Not a person? Weaver shot quick glances around. Hearing the voice coming out of nowhere and everywhere still disconcerted him. "Ah... what do you mean by that?"
"Please, specify. Your question contains too many undefined parameters."
He took a deep breath. "What did you mean by saying she's not a person? How can she be something else?"
The ship was silent for several heartbeats, then its voice spoke again, "Although my memory banks contain numerous protocols for addressing many possible scenarios, I recommend you take your inquiry to Artemae or Mic Wamba. They are better equipped to deal with undeveloped and primitive humans."
His face contorted. What the— He stormed outside in a huff. Pulling out another Lucky, he automatically scanned the surroundings. The soldier hadn't returned from the command post, and there were movements in the camp. Something was going on but as far as he was concerned, it didn't concern him.
He reached for his pocket again, then remembered. The lighter was still buried in his damn bag. With mounting irritation, he marched back inside. But instead of retrieving his seabag from the rear of the ship, he halted a few steps inside the entrance, suddenly despondent. He hated feeling useless.
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
Weaver sighed. That disembodied voice again. He held up his cigarette. When nothing happened, he asked, "Would you be so kind and light this for me?"
"Of course. But that is an activity I would not recommend for your health."
With some difficulty, he held his tongue. "Your opinion is duly noted. Now, please light the damn thing."
A tapping like that of small feet sounded from the ship's fore. He narrowed his eyes. The thing approaching him looked like... like a big, metallic crab with several 'arms' and legs. It even had two optical eyestalks in front of its iridescent shell.
Cautious, he stepped backward. He was about to make a precipitous departure when the contraption spoke with the same female voice as the ship's.
"Please, wait a moment." One of the many-digited front pincers stretched up. "I shall light your cigarette."
It extended what looked like some kind of welder in front of him. He flinched back when the device buzzed and an electric arc shot between the electrodes.
"Please, remain immobile."
The brilliant blue arc approached the tip of the cigarette but didn't touch it. The tip blackened and started to glow, a tendril of smoke rising to a curl. Then the arc vanished with a zap. Lifting a brow, he stuck the cig between his lips as the foot-high contraption retracted its arm.
Weaver backed away and stepped out on the ramp again. Standing there, he drew a lungful in and blew it toward the transparent bubble overhead. The smoke didn't spread along that ceiling as expected. Instead, whimsical shapes formed as it passed through the force-field and dissipated through the camouflage netting above it. Another lungful of smoke yielded the same result.
Curious. The shield wouldn't automatically let in a pack of cigs but allowed atmospheric flow. It made him wonder what would happen if somebody tried to shoot toxic gas into this space. Would it seal it out? Or maybe it could filter the gas and neutralize it.
A sudden increment in noise from beyond the dome snatched his attention. Craning his neck, he tried to see between the edge of the netting and guard posts outside the shield. The sound exploded into a roar, and a motorcycle flew over the improvised barrier and landed inside the camp perimeter. Soldiers blocking the way scattered, some rolling on the ground, but nobody fired a shot.
It was a girl in blue and black. Nodding, Weaver tapped ash off the Lucky. This must be the one he was expecting, Charlie Mi's sister. She passed through the shield as if it weren't there, heading straight for the ramp without slowing—eyes glinting above the flashing neck. Before Weaver could react, something yanked him off his feet and dumped him on the ground, knocking the air out of him. He shook his head to clear it and saw the girl rev up the slope and enter the ship. Outside the shield, the soldiers were scrambling in complete disorder, shouting and cursing at each other.
Weaver got up and brushed himself off. He found his cig still glowing on the ground, so he crushed it underfoot before leaping onto the ramp. But then he hesitated. For an alien of Charlie Mi's caliber, this one had looked really, really mad. It wouldn't surprise him if that had something to do with two-thirds of the contingent breaking up camp yesterday. Grunting, he stretched his shoulders, stepped through the arched opening and frowned.
Neither girl nor bike was in sight. Instead, he found Artemae seated in an armchair near the fore where Charlie Mi had activated the navigation controls. A series of holograms hovered in front Artemae, turning and flowing with thousands of colors and shapes.
He approached her with deliberate footfalls, but she was either too absorbed to notice him or was simply ignoring him. Fine light patterns rippled across her face as she focused on the virtual displays without blinking.
Mesmerized, Weaver halted behind her shoulder. Jumbled numbers, letters, and symbols formed four animated columns. After a while, curiosity reared its head, and he tried to make sense of the tridimensional cascade.
The one on the left displayed Latin letters mixed with numbers, crisscrossed with symbols like ampersand and plus-minus. Here and there, recognizable words like "OR", "IF", and "THEN" slipped by. Squinting at the second column, he locked onto characters looking suspiciously like Hebrew streaming down, while row after falling row of elegant, hanging lettering filled the next.
Sanskrit. He grunted. His brief stint into ancient cultures and languages in college was coming into use after all.
The four holographic displays were aglow with the endless flow like a waterfall—the last column with short strings of letters separated by basic mathematical symbols.
He shook his head in fascination. After a while, he couldn't contain himself. "Can you tell me, what are you doing?"
"She is checking the coding—"
Startled, Weaver spun to find the new girl stepping out of a small recess in the wall.
"—manually trying to find the faulty segments which caused several glitches... in several systems."
He assumed the niche behind her was a lift. The opening shrank and sealed with the rest of the wall as she approached him and pressed her palms together in greeting.
"I am Lora, Mic Wamba's sister. My apologies for earlier. I was... upset. You must be Atlas. Nice to meet you."
Weaver scanned her and nodded in return. This brunette seemed quite composed now, and the choker around her neck, identical to Charlie Mi's, blinked with subdued light dots. But the animated, ethereal displays behind him tugged at his attention and he turned. To his surprise, certain strings were slowing down to pause at Artemae's eye level for a slow sideways dance that facilitated a thorough examination.
"That is unlike any code I've ever seen." He shook his head. "No computer coding like that exists."
"Oh," Lora came up beside him, "have you studied Computer Programming?"
Weaver examined her out of the corner of his eye. "A little. Why—you think I'm just a grunt?"
"Of course not." She lifted pacifying hands. "I just met you. I will not make any assumptions about you. Thank you for helping my Queen." She gestured from her chest.
He nodded again, then narrowed his eyes. "Where were you just now?"
Lora smiled slightly. "I had to check the propulsion and life-support systems. Soon we will be travelling in space, so I wanted to make sure everything is in optimal working order."
"Oh, so there are more rooms in this vessel? I thought this was the only open space here."
She tilted her head quizzically. "Have you not seen this vessel from the outside? It is obvious from its shape, it has more space than what you see here."
"Well, yes," he glanced around, "now that I've had time to think about it. When we came here, we were rather under duress."
"Well, this type of shuttle vessel holds this Control Center," Lora turned, sweeping her hand toward the rear, "a personal, and a sanitary. There is also a small storage, algae units, and the propulsion and energy systems below."
The girl seemed willing to share information. Weaver wasn't one to waste opportunities in gathering intelligence. "Can you show me the propulsion systems? I'm curious."
"Sorry, but this is not my vessel. This belongs to my Queen."
"Can you at least tell me how it's propelled?"
"Of course." She brightened, an amused look in her eyes. "That is simple. We use energy to create a powerful, anti-gravitational field. Then we align our antigrav field with the gravitational field of any nearby planetary or stellar object, and the resulting interaction between the vessel's field with the planet's field creates a vector. Very simple, and efficient."
Simple? Weaver stared at her. He was grasping at straws here with most of the explanation going straight over his head. Couldn't she serve something that he could process? Finally, he blurted. "And what about the material this ship's made up of? What is it?"
"The hull of this vessel is formed by several layers." She cast her gaze around with unmistakeable fondness. "The outermost layer, as well as the innermost one, are just a metallic matrix, holding an aggregate of organic substances."
"Organic? Only living things are organic."
"Exactly." Lora grinned. "It is a living thing. Otherwise it would be impossible for it to grow."
"What?" A disconcerting feeling of being in Jonah's position crept in with the walls closing in. His mind was playing tricks with him—this was not a whale. "This ship grows? How... How is that even possible? That can't be right. Ships just don't grow."
"Oh, but it does. Since these walls are composed of living cells, it is just a matter of issuing correct instructions and feeding it the right substances for the cells to accelerate replication and extrude a new metallic support matrix. Artemae checks the coding for that now. The process must occur impeccably to satisfy the parameters that guarantee the structural integrity of our—" She broke off, her eyes widening in alarm.
Weaver snapped to alert. "What?"
"My friend is in trouble." She spun around. "Artemae. My apologies for disturbing you. Please have Paulux return my motorcycle to this vessel immediately."
"You're going back out there?" He didn't like the sound of that.
Artemae rose. "Remember the Non-interference Principle, L'or—"
"Please!"
"Very well. But I must remind you of your position." Artemae's eyes fluttered. In the next moment, the luminous circle reappeared on the floor and, seconds later, the Kawasaki KZ650. As Lora mounted the bike, the sound of shouts and vehicles revving leaked in from outside.
"Hold on!" Weaver strode to the exit to take a look.
Lora started the engine. "Please move out of the way." She rolled the bike forward.
"Wait, there's something going on. Two jeeps leaving. Is your friend coming from that direction?"
"Yes. Please move."
Weaver faced Lora. Her hands gripped the handlebars as she revved the engine, her jaw tight.
"They're going in that direction. Let them do their job." He held her gaze and stepped aside. "Besides... I suspect you've done enough damage for one day. What do I care? Go if you want to. But I'm pretty damn sure your queen wouldn't want you to."
∞
The road crested. Cautious, Jagg decelerated until the land spread out before him again, devoid of life other than Lora's figure disappearing over the next rise.
It can't be much further. His back was soaked under the leather jacket and the blue sky promised no reprieve. The hills suddenly appeared like a pair of giant lumpy arms on either side as if to bring more desert to him. A long finger of a hill on the right approached the dirt road up ahead. Maybe he should climb it to get a better view of what lay ahead. It was the first opportunity of a vantage point he'd seen since the ambush.
As he got closer, a smooth butte divorced from the finger. He turned off and skirted the foot of it until the road was out of sight before he cut the engine and dismounted. Licking the salt off his lips, he unzipped his jacket, opened it wide and fanned himself—he wasn't planning to use his white shirt as a signpost. He pulled a tall bottle from the pillion bag as he scanned his surroundings and swigged several gulps of the warm water. Then he splashed his face. After this, he'd have to be more conservative with his supply.
Two more bottles and that's it.
Examining the mound, he pulled the bandana off his neck and tied it around his head. "Let's see what you've got on the other side," he said under his breath and started climbing, bottle in hand.
It was steep going, but this terrain was no different than the rest he'd passed through. As it leveled out near the top, he straightened himself to the view and ducked, dropping on all fours between tufts of yellowed grass.
There. Maybe a half-mile away, agitated activity between vehicles and tents surrounded a large, partially domed canopy that would blend into its surroundings had he been at a higher vantage point. He couldn't see what was under it, but it had to be Lora's ship. He couldn't see her so she must have reached her destination.
Should've got binoculars. Another thing he should have done for this trip.
He scanned the area behind and below him—nothing there that didn't belong. He returned to the scene. There was no way he could sneak closer unless he crawled part of the distance on his belly. If it were anywhere else, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. But out here, he was pretty certain he'd run into certain critters he'd rather not meet face-to-face. And waiting for the cover of nightfall was no better. There'd be more critters, not to mention he was already baking out here. The only shade he had available was his bike.
Another swig of water helped him to make up his mind. He would ride straight on in and give himself up. That way he'd both have shelter and be near Lora until her mission.
He backed a few steps down, turned, and froze, locking his gaze with a sweaty soldier stealth-climbing toward him from below.
Shit! Jagg hurled the water bottle at the man's head, scrambled to the top and leaped. Landing on his butt partway down the hill, he launched himself into an awkward run, angling down the slope. He only had a few more yards to reach the flat when he heard the steps above him. As he jumped, the man slammed into him, hard-landing them into a roll to the foot of the hill.
Jagg wrestled and kicked the man who tried to force him on his face and lock his arms. Twisting, Jagg rolled over and threw a left-hand punch. He missed the chin, hitting the man's collarbone as the man dodged his fist and launched a barrage of punches that Jagg blocked.
That was when Jagg caught the man's expression and the crazed look in his eyes.
— ∞ —
©2019 by kemorgan65
Bible reference: Jonah 1:13-2:10
1:17 Now the Lord provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.2:1 From inside the fish Jonah prayed to the Lord his God.2:10 And the Lord commanded the fish, and it vomited Jonah onto dry land.