The lion man bounced ahead of us, his mane dancing behind him. A part of me could not but admire him. To play at life – no complexities, no grey areas, no doubts. Right or wrong, win or lose. He was completely ignorant of our cause, as were five of the others. A part of my envied their ignorance.
My torso reflected off the silver-plated shields of the Galacian sentries who lined the arena walls. I flexed my hind legs and pranced like a young colt as my tail splayed and sliced the air with confidence. I was thankful my years of practice in subterfuge hid my trepidation so well. I glanced over at Soldan – Pisces for this particular bout. His blue green scales flashed in the morning sun. His face was sombre, his movements fluid and composed. I took courage from his strength.
We moved slovenly towards the centre of the arena. The lion man was right about one thing. The roar of the crowd was deafening. A swell of faces full of wild glee, their lust for blood spilled down towards us and washed across the hard dirt beneath our feet. We felt it pool around us, clawing at our ankles, hungry to feed upon our suffering…and our inevitable demise.
When a hundred thousand souls are screaming for your death, begging for your dismemberment, baying for your blood, most folk would feel intimidated. But we weren’t most folk. I glanced around the holding chamber. The flyer had mentioned a zodiac theme this year, and I wondered if they’d thought up that selling point before or after they’d gathered up these freaks.
The two-headed Aldron representing Gemini was obvious enough, likewise the Minotaur for Taurus, and the hoofed and horned Durvan, all the way from the Iliad Nebula, for the ram of Aries. The rest, were a stretch of the imagination. Some of them I knew of from previous bouts, usually off-track planets that mixed arena touts with some bizarro element to amaze and amuse the little ones.
But this was the big time. Twelve thousand gold pieces to the winner. A grave for the losers – after their bodies were poked, piked and paraded around the Colosseum for a while of course. All good clean fun. For the Galacians at least.
Not my favourite clients, the Galacians. Loud, slobbering and rather unhinged. But they paid well, and on time. Twelve thousand Galacian gold coins. Enough to never have to play again.
Commander Nazca knew he would be considered a hero if he completed the mission successfully. Maybe they would name the planet after him. Or at least one of their main habitations once they had settled. But first he had to ensure a secure landing of their aircraft. Thankfully he had been assigned the best possible crew.
Nazca looked at his colleagues seated around the table in the main command room. They were buzzing with excitement, and he understood why. He felt exhilarated himself.
“Right, everybody,” he began and cleared his throat. “We have a lot to discuss before we can initiate the implementation phase of our mission.”
The room became quiet and Commander Nazca switched on the screen at the centre of the table so everyone could follow. He turned on his personal screen, too. In that way, he could take notes – his memory was not what it once was. And doodling helped clear his thoughts while following the conversation.
July 15, 2149, Hawking
From the air Karen could see the cliff walls opening up to reveal a large weapon. Even a mile away she could hear the noise of the rock grating and hoped the sound wouldn’t impede the incoming transmission.
“Breena, did you send the message?” she asked through the comm.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s currently looping as requested. I’ll patch it through to you.”
Soon the alien voice was relaying over her comm and the text from the translator scrolled across the screen. Orders have changed. The newcomers must not be attacked. We have a treaty between us. They will be living along-side you from now on. May their presence last for an eternity on your walls. Thank you for your service. You are now free.
July 15, 2149, Hawking
“Penner, we’re going to drop you off at the lift landing site. O’Sullivan and Cash, you two go with Penner and make sure you secure it as instructed,” Karen said, passing Penner a tablet.
Soon they were lowering in a flat spot, previously decided upon. The massive elevator loomed above them; a dark monolith in the now night sky. Thousands of stars blared down at them from the distance and for a moment Karen forgot where she was. A voice shook her out of her daydream.
“Are you sure you won’t need help?” Penner asked, concern thick in his words.
“Grant is a pro with the lander, and if we are going to sneak into the cliff, the fewer the better. Use the tablet to direct Boone up top, and let’s get our people down to the surface.”
“So what is it?” I asked Steven, as he stood there with his arms wide and grinning like an idiot, like he was P. T. Barnum or something. Steven and I have worked at Oberon Tec. for almost five years. To be fair, I don’t really know they guy. We say hi from time to time and share what projects we’re up to. He caught me just as I was heading home and managed to drag me into his lab and literally unveiled his pet project to me by pulling a big tarp away.
In the middle of his lab stood a titanium body cage, with a full-grown Utahraptor strapped into it. It was just like the ones they make for WWC: Brawl on TV. You know the type: big purple feathers; large claws, with one giant one on its feet that could go through flesh as if it was paper; angry eyes with slit pupils darting around and looking all over the room for a fresh kill. It even has the Upstart Inc. logo imprinted into its colours, so you wouldn’t forget who made this deadly creature. This was a top-of-the-line revival clone. So earlier, when I asked what it was, I got that it was a genetically engineered dinosaur. But the part I didn’t understand was why there was all this gear bolted on to its back and head; the visor on its eye; something I assumed was a rocket launcher of some kind stuck on its back; submachine guns attached to its claws – all these knicknacks that seemed kind of redundant considering its reputation.
“Its my prototype,” Steve said. “The latest in military combat weaponry. The past and the present combined to become the soldier of the future. Introducing: Rocket Raptor!”
July 15, 2149, Hawking
The foot of the massive lift was lowering from the skies as night approached, and they could see it from miles away. It seemed Carne was planning on getting the people transported to the surface quickly. At least that meant the Santa Maria, Nina, and Pinta made it safe and sound. The safety of the last remaining humans was really all that mattered to Karen now.
“So why did they take your transmitter?” she asked Grant in the middle of him telling his story again.
He shrugged. “Not really sure. I think they’ve been given some sort of objective from the ships they drew in the caves. Probably wanted to keep me from sending messages back to Earth in case I found anything. The message you intercepted said they were coming for Earth, and they thanked Carne for the transaction. What do you think it means? Is it as clear cut as it seems?”
“I think so. Carne traded them for this planet. They seem to have a foothold on the indigenous people here, and their technology is evident in the cliff caves you were in. Why would they want to trade this fresh planet for our damaged atmosphere with sick people everywhere? It doesn’t add up.” Karen knew it was time to contact Carne.
“Yep! That’s what I call it,” said the disheveled old man who sat cross-legged on the cement floor rocking back and forth. “Don’t know what it is. Don’t know what to do about it. Just puttin’ up with it.”
The new IT support tech, Barry Monroe, scrawny in a Megadeth T-shirt, jeans and curly brown hair, raised an eyebrow. He wondered if the old man was crazy. More accurately, he wondered how crazy the old man was. He kept a respectable distance from him.
The old man was entangled in a mass of mismatched cables. He explained he was responsible for maintaining the old systems, but could use a bit of help.
Barry’s manager sent him downstairs, beneath the IT department’s data centre, to determine why one of the old systems outside the cloud kept generating random, meaningless error messages referring to an unnamed ‘it.’
July 15, 2149, Hawking
Grant noticed the lander flying toward him just when he was sure his life was almost over. A massive shot of adrenaline coursed through him as he now had hope of survival. The lander turned and softly settled down two hundred yards ahead of his current path. He took the time to do a quick check over his shoulder, and caught a stone with his foot at the same time. He tumbled to the rocky ground, his pack falling off his shoulder. The imager was in there and he knew it was imperative to translate that data. The creatures’ feet boomed behind him, the echoes cascading around the cliff-like alcove as they got closer and closer.
He got up and grabbed the pack, ignoring the shooting pain on his knees from the tumble. He didn’t have long now. Laser fire shot past him and at the ground, causing rocks to explode behind him. They just missed hitting him; a few shards softly hit his back as he ran and then dove from the beams.
A woman stood, feet planted firmly, with a pulse rifle firing past him.
‘You called me, Doc. So what’s going on?’ I looked up at the camera and threw it a grin. When Riddles opened the fire door, my jaw dropped. His head was wrapped in aluminum foil. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I pinched my nose. ‘You look like… crap, and you smell like—’
‘I know, I know. Get in here. Put this on.’
He handed me a silvery foil hat. The hollow look of his eyes and the dark stubble kept me from hurling more insults.
Riddles leaned out as if making sure there was no one else outside. Entering through the loading dock of the BioGentics Research building gave me a bad feeling.
‘Keep your voice down, Jimmy, and put the hat on.’