In My Life . . .
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“ . . . there are so many questions and answers that somehow seem
wrong . . . ” A quote from Les Miserables. I’d never heard of it
. . . and yet, it fits my story so exactly! Intrigued? Read on to find out
why:
“I am afraid I did not hear you correctly,” Warlord Shank said
in a voice of spine-tingling calm. “Would you please give me your message
again?”
The Spung henchman winced, recoiling in terrified expectation. “I said
that . . . that when we sent one of the servants up to fetch Surrola Elmira
from her quarters, she was . . . was gone. Upon further investigation, we
discovered that she may have . . . er . . . utilized a shuttle from the landing
bay to . . . well . . . escape.”
“WHAT!” Shank’s cry of outrage shook the walls of his quarters.
Eyes flashing, he turned to his second-in-command. “You will send out
a general-public notice to all corners of the galaxy. If my daughter is alive,
she will be found.”
“Whoa . . . ”
The Christa’s crew stood frozen in the entrance to the alien marketplace,
motionless, as though a single movement would break the spell and make the
magical spectacle before them vanish into thin air. The kids were staring,
mouths open, eyes wide; before them was a marketplace filled with aliens
of every size, color, and description - more diversity than they’d ever
seen in one place before.
When Thelma had announced the day before that the ship was running low on
fuel and needed a few minor repairs, the crew became determined to convince
their commanding officers that they deserved a little shore leave.
“It’ll take at least two or three days for the on-planet mechanics
to fix the Christa up and make her space-worthy again,” Harlan had said
in the maddeningly persuasive tone which he’d discovered could get him
anywhere.
Once Goddard had assured himself that the planet they’d chosen for their
repairs was civilized and well-populated, he’d reluctantly agreed that
the students could have some time off to check out the area surrounding their
landing site. And, in what was perhaps the more difficult action, he’d
persuaded Miss Davenport to grant permission as well.
No one had been sure exactly what to expect on the planet, but they certainly
weren’t prepared for this. When they’d first stepped out
of the ship into the main storage garage of the planet, they had been amazed
to find themselves surrounded by ships from the farthest corners of the universe
- even the commander couldn’t identify some of the models around them.
And when they entered the marketplace itself, the barrage of alien species
was incredible. There were humanoids, insectoids, reptilian creatures with
long, forked tongues . . . almost anything you could imagine was browsing
the shops, playing the games, or sitting under the huge canopy that housed
the food court, enjoying a meal or a drink from one of the countless food
counters.
For once in his life, Harlan was speechless as his gaze moved from one
eye-catching booth to another. Suddenly, his face lit up, and he moved quickly
toward a hairy humanoid creature who was selling colorful tye-dyed tops.
“Mr. Band, hold it right there!” The commander’s voice stopped
Harlan dead in his tracks. “No one is going anywhere on their own.
You’re free to look at the displays if you can convince someone to go
with you, but you will be back here to check in by 1500 hours. Is
that clear?”
“Got it,” Harlan said quickly. “Come on, Radu - let’s
go.” He hurried off in the direction of the tye-dye. Rolling his eyes,
Radu followed him.
“Harlan, shouldn’t we be heading back to the ship soon?” Radu
asked worriedly. “We were supposed to check in by 1500, and it’s
. . . ” He glanced at the cheap cadet-issue timepiece on his wrist.
“It’s past 1530 now.” Harlan didn’t even acknowledge
that he’d spoken - he was too busy bargaining with an incredibly tall
insectoid over the price of a strange-looking virtual reality helmet.
“Come on, pal - fifty? For this thing? You can’t be serious!
I mean, how many offers have you gotten for this today? Didn’t I hear
you telling your partner over there that I was your first customer all day?
And look at me - I’ve only got two eyes! I can’t even use all the
vision sensors in this thing!” The insectoid looked at him sarcastically,
as if to say, What, you expect me to feel sorry for you or something?
Ignoring the look, Harlan continued. “I totally agree with you,
though, buddy. Mammals are way overrated. Insects are just . . . so much
cooler. I mean, six legs, four eyes - you’re so . . . I can’t even
find words to describe it!”
He paused, shaking his head as if to get himself back on topic. “Okay,
like I was saying. I’ll give you ten for it - best price you’ll
get for the piece of junk, I’m telling you! And a nice guy like you
doesn’t deserve to go all day without selling something.”
With a sigh, the insectoid handed over the helmet. Harlan tossed him a few
dollars of the intergalactic currency that the students had been given before
they left the ship. “Hey, Radu! Let’s head this way - I heard a
few kids talking about a race that’s having competitions in some big
pit over past the food court. From what they said, I guess even you would
be in trouble if you got tangled up with one of those things!”
“Harlan . . . ” Radu said, exasperated. “Didn’t you hear
me saying that we should check in soon? We’re almost an hour late
now.” The human seemed not to hear him. “Are you even listening
to me?” Just go, he was surprised to find himself thinking.
Let Harlan find his own way back!
No, he said to himself firmly as he watched his crewmate pore over
the fairgrounds map with a furrowed brow, I can’t just leave him.
He has no idea where we are - he’d be completely lost if I decided to
take off.
But he ignored you . . . his other voice countered.
Well . . . well, maybe he didn’t hear me - did I speak too softly
again? Especially when he’d first joined the crew, he’d had
a tendency to forget himself and speak in what would be a normal Andromedan
tone. Abruptly, he paused. I’m having an argument with myself! he
realized with a laugh. Oh, well - back to the business at hand. Deliberately
raising his voice, he said, “Harlan!”
“Huh?” Harlan looked up from the map. “Sorry - I wasn’t
listening,” Suddenly, a conspiratorial grin appeared on his face.
“Hey, was that a great deal or what? I’ll tell you something, buddy
- flattery will get you anywhere.”
“We’re late for check-in,” Radu said bluntly.
“What?” Harlan looked confused. “Oh! Right . . . don’t
worry about it, pal.” He laughed. “Commander Goddard didn’t
mean for us to be back by then! Check-in time was just for the girls
and Bova - the commander knows we can take care of ourselves.”
Radu still looked skeptical.
“Look,” Harlan continued, “first of all - give me the watch.
You’re way too obsessed with knowing what time it is. I’m
telling you, Commander Goddard doesn’t care what time we get
back.” Radu suddenly realized that the watch seemed to have been
mysteriously transported to Harlan’s wrist. “Okay - there’s
one of your problems solved. Now about this whole check-in thing - I’ll
make you a deal. The wrestling pit will be our last thing. The match won’t
take long - half an hour, tops. And after it’s done, we’ll head
straight back to the ship. Promise.”
Yeah, right, Radu thought. You can’t just leave him here .
. . his conscience reminded him. Besides - he promised this wouldn’t
take long. “Well . . . all right,” he said slowly. That
settles it, he thought, shaking his head affectionately as he quickened
his step to keep up with Harlan’s eager pace. The promise settles
it. We’re doomed to be wandering around the planet for the rest of our
lives . . .
“Sir!” the Spung communications officer said urgently. “We
are receiving a response to your inquiry about the princess!”
“So play it, you fool,” Shank snarled impatiently.
As the officer’s hands moved nimbly over the control panels, a fuzzy
image appeared - the image of a young adult Andromedan. “Attention evil
Spung demons! We have the princess. She is alive - for now. But unless we
receive a response from you before seventy-two universal hours have passed,
she will be executed.” A sinister grin appeared on the creature’s
face. “I would advise not trying to trace this message - it has been
programmed to self-destruct upon further inquiry. If you have an interest
in regaining the princess, contact us and we will discuss the matter of
ransom.” The message dissolved into static and the communications officer
shut the transmitter.
“What shall we do, Warlord? As the creature in the message said, there
are no coordinates attached. Shall I send a message to them?”
“No,” Shank said, sounding determined. “I will not negotiate
with those pasty-faced morons. You shall use my daughter’s royal retrieval
chip to transport her back to the cruiser.”
“I . . . I am sorry, Warlord,” the officer
stammered. “But the technology of the device works on the principle
that you enter in the coordinates of the location that the princess is to
be brought from and the location you wish to bring her to. Without knowing
where these creatures are, we cannot activate the mechanism of the royal
retrieval chip.”
Shank looked perplexed - but only for a moment. A determined look came into
his eyes. “They should not be all that difficult to locate. Their threat
of the message disintegrating is certainly not as involved as something that
we would create; they are not intelligent enough to create such a complex
program. You will override their simplistic security system and determine
their coordinates.”
“But Warlord - ”
“It is not wise to question my instructions,” Shank said with an
evil grin. “I’m certain you are aware of the fate of the last crew
member who disobeyed my orders?” The henchman gulped and turned back
to the computer console.
“Okay, now tell me the truth. Wasn’t that the coolest thing
you’ve ever seen?” Harlan said excitedly.
“Uh . . . you want the truth?” Radu tried frantically to
think of an answer. His head ached - the crowd surrounding them hadn’t
stopped screaming from the time the wrestling competitors had entered the
ring. “Uh, well . . . actually . . . watching furry five-hundred-pound
guys throw each other around isn’t really my idea of a good time . .
. but it was kind of fun . . . I guess . . . ”
He didn’t want to tell Harlan his true opinion - as soon as the two
hairy wrestlers had entered the ring, Radu had been ready to leave the
auditorium. The whole thing had made him uncomfortable - Andromedans were
taught from the time they were children that they had to be extremely careful
to keep their strength in check, because they were the most powerful race
in the universe. Although he would never have admitted it, he knew that even
the smaller of the two hairy creatures could easily beat him in a fair fight,
and the sight of them so blatantly flaunting their strength frightened him
a bit.
“And what’d I tell you - that didn’t take long.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean . . . it seemed so much longer than
it actually was . . . ” Radu said vaguely.
“Hey, what time is it now?”
“You tell me - remember, you have the watch now.”
Harlan glanced at his wrist. “Uh . . . no, I don’t.”
“Great,” Radu said sarcastically. “We’re done for! Come
on - we’d better head back before the commander hits the spontaneous
combustion stage!”
“Whoa! Check it out - a two-headed . . . uh . . . something!” Harlan
said, detouring yet again to look at one of the little shops lining their
path back.
“Come on, Harlan! Do you need to stop at every booth along the way?
Just remember, every time we stop we add another ten minutes onto our lifetime
of detention.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Okay - let’s go!” Turning, Harlan
headed briskly back toward the campsite - not realizing that his crewmate
was no longer following him.
The Earther’s last words hadn’t even registered with Radu - he
was entirely focused on another of the fair’s patrons. A patron of a
very familiar species.
He hadn’t seen another Andromedan since he’d left home to go to
Starcademy - and he’d never seen one dressed in the costume this
young female was wearing. The usual Andromedan uniform was intended to make
all community members look alike . . . it was a neutral gray, about the same
shade as the Starcademy uniforms, and was cut in the same pattern for males
and females. This girl was dressed in the same basic uniform, but instead
of being gray, it was colored a brilliant red, and had the letters YAASC
printed across the front. “Yask?” he muttered. “What in the
universe is that?” He’d never heard of a group with those initials
- and he certainly didn’t know of any organization that would wear such
eye-catching outfits.
With a start, he suddenly realized that Harlan had moved on without him -
the human was lost in the crowd. Concentrating on screening out background
noise, he tried to focus in on his friend’s familiar voice and step
- but the cacophony of thousands of alien tongues blended easily together,
making it all but impossible to locate one individual.
Radu wasn’t overly concerned about getting to the ship himself, but
he winced as he remembered Harlan’s navigational struggles when he had
been trying to decipher the alien symbols of the fairground’s map.
He’ll never make it back on his own. I’ve got to find him!
Steeling himself for the almost-impossible job ahead of him, he turned hurriedly
and stepped back into the marketplace - a little too quickly, it seemed.
As he stepped forward, he collided with another patron who was examining
some trinkets on a nearby table. A patron who seemed to be built like an
enormous, hairy mountain.
He looked up . . . and up . . . into the furious countenance of one of the
huge furred wrestlers from the competition. One look at the creature’s
expression made it clear that this species’ temper certainly matched
their incredible strength. With a snarl, the wrestler pulled Radu off his
feet. He half-heard his jumpsuit rip, but didn’t bother to look down
- he was more concerned with the creature, which had lifted him into the
air until the two were eye-to-eye. The last thing the young Andromedan saw
was a huge hairy fist rocketing toward his face. There was a blinding pain
in his head . . . and then he knew nothing more.
He’d been awake for almost half an hour before the room stopped spinning.
When he was able to focus on his surroundings, he realized he was lying in
a small, dark room which was furnished in the typical simple Andromedan style.
Two young males sat quietly in the corner, discussing what sounded like battle
plans.
As soon as he sat up, he regretted his decision. His head was pounding as
though someone were inside making themselves busy with a sledgehammer.
His own throbbing consciousness hadn’t registered the slightest sound.
But as if he’d made some sort of secret signal, both of the others in
the room suddenly spun around to look at him. “Oh, good, you’re
awake!” the taller one said, walking over. “Are you feeling all
right?”
Uncertainly, he nodded. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that both of his
rescuers wore unusually bright crimson uniforms with the letters YAASC printed
across them. And glancing down at his own body, he realized he was clad in
an identical costume. What was this group that had rescued him? And, for
that matter, what had he been rescued from?
Well, there’s only one way to find out - start asking questions.
“What happened to me?”
“We found you outside - sprawled in the street, unconscious. You looked
as though someone had beaten you up pretty badly.” The speaker, the
older of the two and the only one in the room to wear the shoulder bars that
designated adult status, looked apologetic. “We’re sorry that we
had to put you in one of our uniforms without your permission, but the clothes
you were wearing were no longer appropriate - they were seriously torn. Anyway,
our medical technician checked you over and says that you’re perfectly
healthy - he expects you to make a full recovery.” He paused, motioning
to his partner. “This is Litu 137, and I’m Toma 023. What’s
your name?”
“My name is . . . ” He stopped, paralyzed. It seemed the easiest
question in the world - “What’s your name?” But he
felt as though he had walked into a strange classroom and been handed a final
exam written in an alien language. He was utterly clueless. “My name
is . . . uh . . . uh . . . ”
“So you have no memory of how you came to be here?” Toma asked,
sounding amazed. “That’s terrible . . . I’ve heard about community
members losing their memories like this, but I’ve never actually met
anyone who’s had it happen to them.” He shook his head, seemingly
unable to process the information. But suddenly, he turned to the stranger
with a sad smile. “Consider this - you have no convoy to return to,
no mission that needs completing. If you choose, you could stay here and
become one of us - we would welcome your help.”
“What do you mean, become one of you? What would I become?”
“We are YAASC,” Toma said, unconsciously slipping into the more
formal, showy language as though he were hoping he’d found a potential
buyer for a new product. “Young Andromedans Avenging Spung Cruelty.
It is our mission to punish those evil lizard-creatures for the injustices
they have done to our people!”
“I know what you’re talking about . . . sort of,” he said
cautiously. He had little clear knowledge left . . . the bits and pieces
of memory that remained were shadowy and jumbled. “But I thought it
was mostly the generation before us that was mistreated.”
“Yeah,” Toma said hesitantly, “that’s true. You look
awfully young - younger than most of the group.” He looked closer at
him. “Actually, I don’t know whether you’re even old enough
to have been a slave yourself. But even if the Spung never did anything to
you personally, they are the cause of all the universe’s corruption
- the only creatures who are truly evil.” His expression hardened. “I
was still young when we were enslaved - just a small child. I was never forced
to fight in the battles. But the things I’ve seen would give you nightmares
for the rest of your life!” He paused, seeming to give himself a mental
shake, as if he were telling himself, This isn’t the time! Turning
back to the wide-eyed stranger, he continued. “Consider this: you were
probably put into your present situation by Spung cruelty.”
“What?” He didn’t even know how he had gotten into
his present situation - how could this guy know that his problems were
“probably” caused by the Spung? And anyway, Toma (was that his
name?) was starting to give him the creeps. He knew that the Spung were evil
- he remembered that clearly. But it sounded as though this guy was ready
to blame them for bad weather! Wasn’t that taking it a bit to
extremes?
“Okay - let’s think about this. We found you in the street, hurt
and alone. If you had been part of a convoy, they certainly wouldn’t
have abandoned you - Yon looks with disfavor on those who turn away from
their comrades in need. Your most likely situation is that of a Spung servant,
injured and left to die because he was no longer useful.”
He gulped. Toma’s reasoning still didn’t make much sense to him,
but his head hurt too badly to allow much contemplation on the subject. And
he didn’t want to endanger himself by questioning the logic of the only
familiar face in this suddenly unfriendly universe.
"So, what do you say?” Toma was saying now. “Are you with
us?”
Uncertainly, YAASC’s newest cadet nodded.
Click
here for Part 2 of In My Life . . .