Dominant Species Volume One -- Natural Selection (Dominant Species Series) (47 page)

“That’s a fact,” Phil replied. Her condition was what happened as
a result of being captured and tortured by aliens. That was the simple
diagnosis.

“We can’t help her,” he added.

The Indian touched Phil’s arm with his fingers as lightly as a butterfly
and started to yammer at Phil in his native tongue.

“What’s he saying?” Mary asked Phil, as if he just wasn’t speaking
loud enough to be understood.

“Goddamn it, Mary, how should I know?” Phil asked.

He turned his head to the Indian, listened to the noises that came
at him and scowled.

Seseidi touched the bow then the arrows and the frog-basket then
his own breast, all the time yammering at Phil. He did that over and over,
waiting for Phil to catch on.

“I think he wants to join up,” Ned said.

Phil thought it over. He wasn’t sure he wanted a soldier on the
squad who couldn’t understand a word of English.

“Do you understand English?” Phil asked loudly.

“Englese. No. No, Englese.” Seseidi said.

“Well, he understood that,” Phil said and stepped around the
little Indian. “Let’s go.”

Seseidi stepped in front of Phil and rested his hand on Phil’s
chest, yammered and touched the bow then the quiver. Phil made a half-hearted
attempt to step around him again.

“I think he wants the bow and arrows,” Mary said.

“He wants too much. Mine! Mine!” Phil said, tapping his chest. His
patience was getting thin. He didn’t want to throttle the little Indian, but was
prepared to do just that if this didn’t end right now.

Seseidi put his hands together like a prayer and yammered some
more.

“Aw, Christ!” Phil said.

Reluctantly, he handed the bow to the Indian. Seseidi reached up
gently and yammered softly and plucked an arrow out of the quiver. It took him
a second to fit the end of the arrow properly against the flat bungee cord, but
he did, then drew the bow back and let the arrow fly at the opener on the rear
seam now some thirty feet away. The arrow stuck nearly in the center of the
organ with a solid smack. Though the arrow had hit almost dead center, Seseidi
shook the bow as if punishing it and his yammering took on the unmistakable
tone of a complaint.

Phil, Mary and Ned exchanged looks as if they’d just seen a toad
with wings. When he glanced back at the seam, it had parted open and was
twitching as if electric current was going through it.

“Okay, so he can shoot, but how would he know what to shoot at?
How would I tell him?”

“You could just point,” Mary said. “Anyway, he can figure out what
to shoot. I don’t think he’s stupid.”

“Yeah, but can he follow orders?” Phil asked.

“No, but he can shoot those arrows like a sonofabitch,” Ned added
and coughed.

Phil thought about it a second more, then stripped off the quiver,
kept some darts for himself and handed the quiver and the frog basket over to
the little Indian. Seseidi smiled a big white-toothed grin and put the quiver
over his shoulder.

“What is your name?” Phil asked.

Seseidi yammered something, and Phil scowled at him.

“Fuck it,” Phil said. “Let’s go.”

*
 
*
 
*

It wasn’t his fault; he hadn’t done anything. Still, they might
think he had blundered the search for the phone, if only because he didn’t yet
have
the phone.

Nor did he know if the traitors were still alive, but it was safe
to assume they were.

When he opened his hand to look at the little sliver, he noticed
that his hand was numb as if it had fallen asleep. It was an odd sensation and
he guessed right that they had treated it with some chemical; something
obtained from the ship. He would have to tell the alpha about it and show it to
him, but the thought of doing that made him swallow hard. The aliens would be
very, very upset at this. This development, combined with the problem with
Bailey and the phone might cause them to review their relationship to Gilbert
as well.

He pumped
a great open-mouthed swallow that made a sound not unlike a brief, wet fart.

He waddled along the central tube
toward the alpha’s chamber trying to think how he could explain it all without
being blamed.
It’s not good to be blamed
for things.

*
 
*
 
*

“How are we doing on time?” Phil asked Bailey.

She took a look at her watch and thought a minute.

“By the time we get to the access tube, we’ll have about ten
minutes to get everybody down and through the other side before the next
shuttle arrives.”

“That’s cutting it close.”

They couldn’t get the rear seam closed after the Indian had put
the arrow in the opener, but it didn’t matter, their captors would know which
way they’d gone in any case. There were only two possible destinations from
that rear seam; one was the shuttle bay and the other was the larvae cache in
what Phil now knew was the stern of the ship.

The plan was to retrace Bailey’s tracks. On the way to the shuttle
bay, he’d worked out just how to get everyone down the wall. They’d lower Ned,
the heaviest, first, then Phil, then Mary, then Bailey, alone, would hold for
the Indian. Bailey could climb down herself last. She’d bottled a full gallon
of water to replenish herself afterwards.

The hardest part would be getting Ned down. He was at least two
hundred and fifty pounds, maybe more, and Phil worried about the strength of
the hose.

“How ‘ya doing?” Phil asked him.

“I’ve been better,” Ned replied. His face was the color of a gray
sky. Phil was amazed that the big man was still on his feet.

“Ready?”

“I guess so.”

The others braced themselves as Ned got down on his knees
backwards then slipped awkwardly over the edge with a look of wide-eyed fear on
his face. Phil could tell that the activity was putting a strain on his wound.

They let out the hose through their hands, letting it slide a
little at a time until they felt the strain evaporate as Ned’s feet reached the
floor.

“I’m down!” he called out.

Phil moved to the front and got ready. The others took hold of the
hose and braced themselves. As the others took up the slack, Phil backed over
the edge and started down.

Bailey and the little Indian then held the hose for Mary who, true
to form, sent herself down the hose a little too fast, cursing and fighting the
whole way.

The Indian weighed no more than a hundred pounds so Bailey was
sure she could hold him. She braced herself with her feet against the roof of
the tube with the hose wrapped around her waist. She signaled to the Indian to
start down.

Before he could get himself in position, the bellow of the goon
filled the chamber below them.

“We’ve got company!” she heard Phil yell up to her.

“Shit!” Bailey said. She pulled the Indian away from the opening
and looked down.

The goon must have entered through the large opening to the
shuttle bay and was standing just a few feet from it, cutting off their escape
completely. It moved laterally and closed the distance, tightening them to the
wall. Bailey didn’t see it at first, but when the goon lifted it to take aim,
she gasped.

Phil saw it, too, and his heart pounded as the muzzle of the burr
weapon rose in their direction.

There was a sound from above like a dull twang from a loose guitar
string. Phil saw the arrow streak in at the goon; and when it struck, the goon
jerked as if stung and the burr weapon discharged with a
phoop.
Phil
caught a glimpse of the burr as it flashed at them and he heard it whack into
the rubbery wall of the chamber a few feet above their heads.

The dart couldn’t have been better placed and Phil marveled at
the shooting skill of the little Indian. It was at least a seventy-five foot
shot. Nailed dead center, the goon attempted to take aim again, but discharged
the weapon into the floor in front of itself. Then it fell forward crushing
into the weapon with a
crunch.

When the Indian stuck his head out of the opening above, Phil gave
him a big thumbs up.

Phil ran up to the goon with hopes of gaining its weapon as his
own. To his disappointment, the goon had shattered the weapon as if it had been
run over with a truck. The magazine holding a row of perhaps a dozen burrs was
broken open, leaking dull liquid.

He turned and signaled for the Indian to start down. When he hit
the floor, Phil patted him on the back.

“Thank you!” he said. “Thank you!”

Seseidi was glad to have killed the giant spirit, but it was the
white warrior after all who had lured it to its death. Seseidi was happy but a
little embarrassed at the attention.

“Send down the stuff!” Phil yelled up to Bailey.

Bailey yanked the slack hose back up in big grabs, sending it
flailing behind in loops. She tied the quivers, darts, bow, pack and the other
supplies into a neat bundle with the end of the hose then lowered the entire
war machine to the floor.

When they’d untied it, she yanked the hose up one last time,
stripped, threw her clothes down and started to slime her way down the sheer
wall of the alien chamber.

“Look at that shit . . .” Mary said with a smile, watching Bailey
inch down the wall like a snail. “What the fuck . . . ?”

When she reached the bottom, Bailey picked up her clothes and
started to put them on. Phil and Ned turned away, but Mary and the Indian
looked on unabashed. The Indian was wide-eyed and yammered to himself under his
breath. Bailey went right for the big bottle of water and swilled it down like
she’d never had water.

“That’s amazing,” Mary said.

“I know,” Bailey said, catching her breath. “Quite a little trick,
huh?”

Mary just shook her head.

“Let’s move!” Phil said. “Bailey, you know the way. Get moving!”

The white
witch is a snail spirit,
Seseidi thought
. Surely it must be so.

As they were double timing it out of the shuttle bay, Mary paused
to look at the shuttles clustered like gigantic, gleaming insects. When she
glanced at the control panel, she could feel the probe up her arm and an odd
sense of longing filled her. Escape from this grotesque place lay in the direction
of those living vessels. She had to remind herself that escape now would be a
fool’s journey. Trotting after the others she said it out loud to herself.

*
 
*
 
*

Gilbert had been careful to point out that the goons had been
careless, not he, and that he had nothing to do with the cause of the error. On
hearing the story, the alpha had summoned the others from their adjoining
chambers at once.

The aliens were agitated and whistled and squealed with such vigor
it was all Gilbert could do to keep from almost smiling at first, but the
sound took on an ominous note that sobered him, and he swallowed and stared
instead.

The alpha held the dart tip in front of Gilbert’s face. Gilbert
pushed his glasses up on his nose cautiously.

“What is the nature of this device?” it asked.

“I do not know,” Gilbert replied and swallowed.

The alien continued to hold the sliver up, not moving.

“Answer or suffer,” the alien rasped.

Gilbert decided not to show fear and swallowed with his mouth
open.

“I do not know,” he said evenly. “I believe it may contain poison
as I said.”

“How could this poison be produced?” the alien asked menacingly.

“I do not know.”