Captain Justin Fordhammer sat upright in bed as the visphone on the nightstand next to him buzzed once, then a second time. As the room’s sensors detected that he was awake, the lights automatically started brightening , revealing his small quarters. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus them, as he forced himself awake. When the visphone buzzed for the third time, Fordhammer jabbed the button that brought the small screen to life.
"What is it?" he asked, impatiently.
"This is Sergeant Myers," the slightly out of focus face on the screen said. "We need you to come to the monitoring station as soon as possible."
"Why? What's going on?" the Captain asked.
"A few Darranians have crossed into our territory. Not the usual sightseers either. You‘d better come and have a look."
"I'll be there in a few minutes," Fordhammer said, punching the button that cleared the screen. He swiftly dressed, hoping that there was nothing to worry about. But he knew the sergeant was a competent man; if he was calling, it had to be something important. Within seconds, Fordhammer was out the door to his quarters.
He reached the monitoring station in a matter of minutes, after jogging through the halls of the compound. Myers turned as Fordhammer entered, while the other man on duty continued watching the monitors.
"What is it?" Fordhammer asked.
"On the northern border, four Darranians have crossed into our territory," Myers explained, pointing to the screen in front of him. Four dots moved toward the center of the screen. "They are still several kilometers away from our installation, but they are heading our way. One is about half a kilometer ahead of the others."
"Can you get a picture of them?" Fordhammer asked.
"I already have," the sergeant said. He punched a few buttons, activating the satellites stationed above their territory. There were satellites stationed directly above the compound, as well as arched in various directions on the horizon, allowing images to be sent from different angles. The satellites focused on it's targets, obtaining images and sending them back to the station. The images were computer enhanced, and sent to the monitors with a three dimensional quality. Two screens lit up. On one screen three Darranians walked swiftly with purpose. The Darranians were a tall, thin race. Their faces appeared almost weasel-like; with round heads; sharp, yellow eyes; long, animal-like ears; and pointed teeth. Their bodies were covered with short, gray fur. Their hands ended in sharp nails. The three the monitor was focused on wore dark fur from some native animal. They carried long, wicked looking spears. Slings and daggers hung from their belts. The other screen showed a youth, his fur clothing stained and worn. He stumbled along frantically, and nearly exhausted, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time.
"What do you suppose is going on?" Fordhammer asked. "A runaway?"
Before Myers could reply, the three armed Darranians came within sight of the youth. One of them readied a sling, and sent a fist-sized rock arching through the air. The missile barely missed the fleeing youth.
"What the..." Fordhammer started to say.
"That’s not the first time that has happened," Myers replied. "That’s why I called you immediately."
"Do you think the one running is a thief or criminal? Maybe a blood feud?" Fordhammer said. The Darranians were a tribal lot, with their tribes often warring against each other. Fordhammer had heard of the bloody massacres that often occurred, though the young were never involved in a blood feud. It was taboo among the natives to kill youths, even of the enemy. The fleeing one looked so young, not much older than a boy.
"I don’t know," Myers said. "I thought you might want to know that the locals were planning to kill one of their own on our territory."
"Have two land-cruisers prepared," Fordhammer ordered, as he started out the door. "And tell three of the men to meet me in the garage. You'd better tell one of the Counselors to meet us in the garage as well."
As Fordhammer entered the garage, only a few minutes later, he saw three of his guards already waiting there. Myers had already ordered them to get ready, in anticipation to Fordhammer’s orders. They stood next to the two cruisers, waiting for the maintenance man to finish checking the vehicles' fluids. As the captain greeted his men, a short, thin man entered, and approached the group.
"Dr. Nolla," Fordhammer said, shaking the government sociologist’s hand. Fordhammer had taken the time to meet everyone at the base, and get to know what their job was when he had first arrived. It was part of his requirement as chief of security. He had only talked to Nolla previously a couple of times, but had found the man to be more down-to-earth than most government scientists. "Have you been told what's going on?"
Nolla shook his head. "I’ve told you before, call me Luther. Tell me what’s happening. I know it must be important to wake me in the middle of the night."
Fordhammer couldn’t tell if Nolla was being sarcastic or serious, so he ignored the comment and explained the situation.
"Why are we going out there?" Nolla asked. "This is obviously a local matter."
Fordhammer bit back his first, angry response, then replied, "We’re going to see what’s going on. I’m not about to let a youth be murdered on our territory, unless I know why."
"We are not to interfere with their culture, you know the rules," Nolla continued. "This could be a blood feud, or he may be a criminal."
"Yes, but even during their blood feuds, they don’t kill children," Fordhammer explained. "We’re going out there, to find out what’s going on. If you don’t want to come, I can call another representative."
"No, let’s go," Nolla said. "Just remember, we’re not to interfere with their culture."
They climbed into the land-cruisers, which resembled floating, jeep-like vehicles. Within seconds the cruisers were moving over the rough terrain, floating a few feet above the ground, heading for an interception with the natives. The land to the north of the base was hilly and rocky, with few of the trees growing there. The majority of the forest was to the west and south of the base. The temperature of the area was moderate. Overhead, the pale white sun burned dimly, barely brighter than Earth‘s moon. The bright yellow sun, which provided the planet’s sunlight, had not yet risen, but was due to break the horizon any moment.
As they rode over the rough terrain, the floating shocks absorbing the vehicles’ bouncing, Fordhammer recalled to himself what had brought him to this desolate, primitive planet. He and his men were assigned to protect a small base and it's inhabitants. He had a dozen soldiers under him. The base also housed a small maintenance crew, a small logging operation, a research team, and a few government agents. The base consisted of several buildings, all connected with an elaborate underground subway system. There was a launch pad near the center of the base, large enough for freighters of the logging operation to land.
A study team sent to Darran Five a decade ago had discovered Darranwood, also called Tanglewood due to it's vine-like appearance. The trees grew low to the ground, and were drastically intertwined and twisted together. The branches and trunks were several meters thick, and covered with a green, moss-like bark. The wood was remarkably light, and very strong. It was discovered during one of the first exploratory expeditions, that properties in the wood could be used to treat space sickness and a few other fatal diseases, which until then had been considered incurable. After being harvested, the wood grew back at a rapid rate. The researchers saw the value of the wood, and the government was urged to forego it's policy of interfering with native cultures to obtain the product.
A few years ago, the Earth-Alliance government had set up a treaty with the Darranian leaders. The Earth-Alliance would occupy a certain territory and be allowed to extract Darranwood from a forest in it's territory. In exchange for this, the Darranians would be provided with technology they wouldn't obtain on their own for centuries. Weapons were forbidden in the exchange because of the tension between the local tribes. So far, the Earth-Alliance had provided the Darranians with a few medical supplies, clothing, and household products to make their lives easier. Researchers studied their culture, so that it wouldn't all be totally lost in the exchange.
Soon, the youth came in sight.
The humans slowed the vehicles as they approached him. When the boy saw them, he began to run toward them, waving his hands. Fordhammer flipped a switch on the translator mounted on the vehicle. The Darranians' language had been incorporated into the translator's programming, making it possible for the two races to communicate.
"Help! You must help me!" the youth shouted, reaching their craft. He tried to reach for the men in the floating vehicles, but was too short. His eyes pleaded toward the humans. Now that he was close, Fordhammer could see that several of the stains on the youngster’s clothing was blood. Fordhammer could also see an open wound, in the youth’s chest. Another bleeding wound ran down his right leg. His hands which clung to the floating vehicle were ragged and bloody. Fordhammer heard Nolla gasp at the boy’s injuries.
The three Darranians who had been following the youth topped the hill in front of them. When they sighted the boy, they broke into a run, advancing onto the group. When the boy saw them, he whimpered and crawled underneath Fordhammer's vehicle, trying to hide.
The soldiers reached for their weapons at the sight of the Darranians nearing them, with spears in their hands.
"You will not fire your weapons, unless you are attacked," Dr. Nolla snapped. "And then, you are not to fire to kill. We don't want another incident like on G-Beta three. There are enough anti-interference groups now who are up in arms about our being here. If there's any trouble, this projects liable to get canceled, no matter how valuable the Darranwood is."
Captain Fordhammer nodded, remembering what he had read about G-Beta three. There had been an encounter between the Earth-Alliance team and the natives. A few natives had been killed. The natives then rioted and looted the Earth-Alliance establishment, seizing weapons, computers, machinery. Their culture was turned upside down by the things they had stolen, and by the knowledge they had seized in such a short amount of time. Their native governments collapsed, civil war ensued, their entire civilization was forever changed. Fordhammer didn’t want the same thing happening while he was in-charge of security. The Darran Five Project was the first settlement on an inhabited planet since the incident on G-Beta three. The government had set up the territory situation to keep the Earth-Alliance forces and the natives apart, so they had as little communication with one another as possible. And when interaction was a necessity, a government representative, trained in negotiation, was required to be present.
Standing in the still cruiser, Fordhammer shouted toward the three adult Darranians.
"Stop where you are! You have invaded our territory!" the translator spat out the Darranian version of Fordhammer's words as he spoke.
"Your territory?" the foremost of the Darranians snarled. The three intruders stopped, staring angrily at the Earthmen. Their lips were curled back, revealing their sharp teeth. "This is Darranian land. You are the invaders!"
"We were given rights to this land by the tribal leaders of Darran," Fordhammer said. "Why have you come here?"
"Not all Darranians agree with the leaders' decisions to allow you here," the Darranian growled. "We are not here to argue that now. We want the boy. We have come for him."
"Why do you want him? What has he done?"
"He is a Chuma-kaa. He must die!" the foremost Darranian said, and the others raised their spears in agreement.
Fordhammer turned to Nolla. "What is a Chuma-kaa?" he asked.
"I don't know," he said. "I've been studying Darranian culture and have never heard the word before. Neither have the other researchers, or it would be in the translator’s programming. Maybe it's a name of a tribe. Tell them we'll turn the boy over to their leaders."
"We cannot allow you to take the youth," Fordhammer said to the Darranians. "You must bring your leaders. We’ll give the boy to them."
"You don't understand, foreigner," the Darranian returned. "He is a Chuma-kaa. We have followed him for three days. He must die."
Fordhammer hesitated. "What is a Chuma-kaa?"
"An enemy. We killed his family three days ago, he escaped. Now we must kill him as well. He is a Chuma-kaa." The three Darranians took a step forward.
"Stop right there!" Fordhammer shouted.
"These could be renegades," Nolla suggested to Fordhammer. "I don't think we should turn the boy over until we know what's going on."
Fordhammer nodded and turned toward the Darranians. "You must leave now. We will not turn the boy over to you. You must bring a leader back with you."
One of the Darranians raised a spear. "The Chuma-kaa must die!"
Fordhammer grabbed his laser pistol as the spear was thrown. Firing his gun. The bolt of light struck the hard, Darranian wood in a burst of color and sound. The wood was splintered into hundreds of burnt slivers by the laser. Fordhammer fired again, into the ground in front of the Darranians. The three Darranians turned and began running from the sound of the explosion.
"Stop firing!" Nolla shouted frantically. "Stop!"
Fordhammer lowered his weapon and watched the Darranians, which were running away as fast as they could.
When they reached the top of the hill, one of them turned back. "You will all die, foreigners! You will all die!" They disappeared over the hilltop.
Fordhammer turned to the two men in the other land-cruiser. "Follow them. Make certain they leave our territory."
Nolla started to respond, but Fordhammer silenced him with a glance. The counselor turned his attention to the cringing young Darranian.
"Yes sir," the guards said, and forced their vehicle after the fleeing Darranians.
"It's all right," Nolla was saying to the youth, trying to coax him out from underneath the vehicle. Slowly the youth emerged, his fearful eyes darting around, wary of any danger.
After they got him to climb into the land-cruiser and Fordhammer told the driver to start back toward the base. Fordhammer sat next to the youth and asked, in a soft voice, "Why were those men after you?"
The youth hesitated, then said. "I am a Chuma-kaa."
"What is a Chuma-kaa?" Nolla asked.
Again the youth hesitated. "We lived in the mountains to the north. I am a Chuma-kaa."
"What happened to the rest of your people? To your family?" Nolla pressed.
"Those hunters killed them," the youth said sadly. "They and the rest of their hunting party. They killed my family, my Mother and Father. They killed everyone else in our village. I alone escaped."
Fordhammer and Nolla exchanged a glance. "I’ll dispatch a couple of men to backtrack the trail they left," Fordhammer said quietly to the sociologist. "I want to know what happened up there." Nolla nodded.
"What is your name?" Fordhammer continued.
"I am Kirt," the youth said, looking away.
Within minutes the group was at the base again.
"I’ll take Kirt to the medi-lab," Nolla said. "To make certain he isn't carrying any diseases. We'll have more questions for him later."
"Sure, Luther," Fordhammer said. "But take it easy on the boy. It sounds like he's been through a lot."
"We just have to find out what we're dealing with," Nolla said, turning away. Fordhammer motioned for the other guard to follow them, then turned and made his way back to the monitoring station.
* * *
"How's our guest doing?" Fordhammer asked, walking into the medi-lab later that morning.
"He's healthy," the base's medical doctor, Dr. Gerome Harrison replied. Standing back out of the way was Nolla, who nodded a greeting toward Fordhammer. Olivia Madison, the base's director, stood next to Nolla. A tall, dark man Fordhammer recognized as Dr. Stephen LeClair, one of the men attached to the research department, assisted Harrison.
"He's exhausted and half starved, but otherwise healthy," Harrison continued. "As far as I can tell. I'm not an expert on Darranian physiology."
"Well, I am an expert on Darranian physiology," Dr LeClair broke in. "At least, I know more about it than anyone else at this point. As far as I can tell, the boy is healthy. I haven't had very many natives to study."
"He has several scars," Harrison pointed out. "Many of them old."
"They are a tribal people, Doctor," Olivia Madison, the base’s director, broke in. "They often war against each other. They are trained to fight at a very young age."
Kirt sat listening to their talk. A translator sat on the examining table next to him, interpreting what was being said into his native language.
"Are the hunters who were after me gone?" Kirt asked.
"Yes," Fordhammer said. "They won't be back for you. They won't come back onto our territory again without our permission."
"They'll be back," Kirt said solemnly. "They are sworn to kill me."
"Why?"
"I am a Chuma-Kaa."
* * *
Fordhammer met the team that was returning from the mountains in the garage. The three soldiers climbed out of the cruiser as maintenance men came forward to check the machine in. Fordhammer noticed that the men had a sour expressions on their faces.
"Did you find the youth’s village?" Fordhammer asked.
"Yeah, yeah we did," Corporal Black, the man who had led the expedition said softly.
"Well!" Fordhammer demanded.
"We found a village of slaughtered Darranians," Black explained. "They had been executed. Tied to stakes and burned, or else they had their heads chopped off and mounted on poles at the villages perimeter. Adult males, females, even children, Sir. Dozens of them."
Fordhammer was silent for several moments, as the news sank in. "Thank you," he said at last. "Please include all the details in your report, so I can pass it on to the Director and the rest of the faculty."
"We took pictures and videos of the sight," Black said.
"Good," Fordhammer said. "We may need it."
* * *
Kirt was eating in the mess hall when Fordhammer found him. One of the guards, Rollins, was standing nearby. Fordhammer had assigned Rollins to keep an eye on the youth while he was in their care.
"How are you doing?" Fordhammer asked. A small, portable translator was on the table, deciphering words as Fordhammer spoke.
"Fine," Kirt said. "I was very hungry. This food is good. Thank you, Sir." The translator provided a rough translation, as close as it could to the actual definitions.
"You can call me Justin," Fordhammer smiled.
"Thank you, " the youth said softly. "Justin."
Fordhammer smiled as he watched him eating for a minute. The youth reminded him of his younger brother, who was back on Earth with his parents. Finally, Fordhammer said, "Can you tell me a little of what happened?"
Kirt looked down. His face darkened, and he stared at his plate, refusing to meet Fordhammer’s gaze.
"If you don’t think you can..." Fordhammer started.
"I was playing with my brothers," Kirt interrupted. "My mother was preparing the evening meal, and my father was working with his tools. Suddenly, the hunters came out of the forest. They had surrounded the village. My father and some of the others tried to fight back, but there were so many...." The young alien suddenly broke down and started sobbing.
Fordhammers reached out and pulled the youngster into his arms. "It’s all right," he said. "Your safe now. I won’t let them harm you again."
Kirt hugged Fordhammer, burying his face against the man’s chest. "They’ll come for me. You won’t be able to stop it." He mumbled.
Fordhammer patted the youth’s back, biting back tears. He silently vowed to do everything he could to stop the hunters from coming back.
* * *
Shortly after the pale white sun had set, and several hours before the bright yellow sun would disappear over the horizon, casting the world of Darran Five into a cold darkness for fourteen hours, Fordhammer walked into the base's conference room. Inside was Director Olivia Madison, who had summoned the captain. Also seated at the long table were Dr. Nolla, Dr. LeClair and several other members of the government's research/study team, as well as Danny Jacobs, the superintendent of the logging operation. Fordhammer greeted them, taking a seat at the far end of the table.
"Any luck yet finding out what a Chuma-kaa is?" he asked Dr. Nolla as he sat.
"No," the sociologist said. "We still haven't figured out what exactly a Chuma-kaa is. I’ve talked to Kirt several times. It must be the name of his tribe, for he refers to it as his people, or something he is part of."
"We have a problem, Captain," Olivia broke in. "The reason I called you here is to inform you that you will need to increase security immediately."
"Why?" Fordhammer asked. "Have you had threats from the renegades?"
"They may not have been renegades," Olivia began. "Apparently the Darranians you ran out of our territory have gone to the local leaders. Their group is called Chuma-Kaa Hunters, to be blunt, and is made up of members from various tribes. The hunters are a natural part of their society. We sent some of our representatives, who have been working with the locals in their studies, to the local tribes to see if they could get any information on a Chuma-kaa. They weren't welcomed in any of the tribes, as they have been in the past. The leaders told them we are to deliver the boy's body over to them, before dark, or we would all perish before the sun rose again. Usually, there are vast differences between the various tribes, but in this, they all are in agreement."
"The boy's body?" Fordhammer asked.
"They want us to learn that a Chuma-kaa is to be slain on sight," she continued. "We are to kill the boy as a sign of good will toward them."
"You can't be serious?" Fordhammer exploded. "You can’t be considering giving in to them. You’re not going to turn him over..."
"Of course not, Captain," she said, standing. Turning around, she walked toward the window, staring out as she spoke. "We are in a very precarious situation. This installation is unique. We were allowed to maintain a base on this planet, provided we can get along with the natives, and don't interfere with their culture. That doesn't mean we have to participate in any of their barbaric rituals. Yet, if we don't turn the boy over, dead or alive, we can be accused of interfering with their culture. The Chuma-Kaa are considered open game to all the other tribes."
"May I remind the Director of the Asylum policy?" Fordhammer interrupted, glaring at Olivia.
"No, you don't have to remind me, I'm fully aware of the Asylum policy," she responded curtly. "The Earth-Alliance policy is to offer asylum to political refugees from other cultures. I'm not sure this could be classified as political, but there's the possibility. Regardless of the policy, I wouldn't turn the youth over after a couple of threats from the local leaders. I don't want them to have the feeling that they can manipulate us or frighten us. If they want the boy, they'll have to give us more information on why they want him. They'll have to tell us what a Chuma-kaa is, and why they aren't accepted in their society. Then we'll decide what to do."
"In the meantime, Captain," she said, turning to face him, her large dark eyes bore into his. "I suggest you increase security. Whatever move they plan on making, they've already threatened to make it tonight. I've sent a message to the nearest Earth-Alliance Base. I expect to receive their reply on how to handle the situation tomorrow morning. Until then, we're on our own. I want to sit tight and see what kind of action the natives take."
"Director," Fordhammer said, standing. "Olivia, this base is not a military installation. This is a combination research facility and industrial logging operation. I have a dozen military men under me. I would need more than a hundred to adequately protect a base of this size from a full scale assault. It’s spread out too much. We were sent as a peacekeeping force. A full military battalion wasn't sent, because it was thought the Darranians would feel threatened by a sizable force on their planet. We have a large arsenal at our disposal, but we aren't manned or prepared for a full scale assault."
"Do what you can, Captain," Olivia said. "If we have to barricade ourselves within the main complex until assistance arrives, then we we'll do it."
"Director," Danny Jacobs, the superintendent of the logging operation, said. "We have billions of dollars worth of equipment here. We can't abandon it to barricade ourselves inside the main complex. Why are we interfering with their culture? If they demand the youth, give him to them, it's their planet."
Fordhammer turned to Jacobs. "Why, you son of a ...."
"What?" Jacobs sputtered. "It’s their planet!"
"So we’re supposed to turn the other way when they slaughter children?" Fordhammer said sharply. He pulled a handful of copies of the photos his men had brought back from the slaughtered village out of the packet he carried, and tossed them on the table. The people around the table began picking them up and looking at them. "It sounds like they’re trying to exterminate the Chuma-kaa," Fordhammer continued. "Like Hitler tried to do with the Jews back on old Earth in the twentieth century. Like Custer tried to do with the Native Americans...."
"This is their world!" Jacobs shot back, tossing one of the photos down. "Might I remind you of the no interference clause. We’re here as guests, and we should obey their rules!"
Both men stood up, facing each other angrily.
"Sit down, both of you!" Olivia ordered. Both men settled back into their seats. "I will not be ordered about by the natives here, or by you." She glared at Jacobs. "If they demand the youth, they'll have to cooperate with us, and provide us with more information. We aren't subject to their threats."
"But, the equipment," Jacobs added. "Laser saws, sonic trimmers, floating skidders, solar generators. I cannot allow it to be abandoned if we barricade ourselves in the main complex."
"How many workers do you employ, Mr. Jacobs?" Olivia asked.
"Twenty seven," Jacobs offered.
"Do any have previous military experience?"
"I’m not sure," Jacobs replied. "Some do. But it’s not their responsibility to protect the equipment. My company was assured military protection of their equipment before they ventured onto this operation."
"This is an emergency situation, Mr. Jacobs," Olivia remarked. "If you don't wish to cooperate, the government won't be responsible for any loss you receive to you’re equipment. In fact, if you fail to cooperate, your contract with this operation may be terminated. I suggest you reread the part of the contract concerning emergency situations. Now, Captain Fordhammer said that we have a large arsenal. I suggest every available man receive whatever weapons he is able to use, and we prepare ourselves for tonight. Maybe they only threaten, and nothing will happen. But if Captain Fordhammer’s men aren’t able to repel any assault, the attackers won’t care who’s responsibility it is to protect the base and the equipment. Are you willing to cooperate, Mr. Jacobs?"
"Yes," he replied dryly.
"Then let's be about our business," Olivia ordered.
* * *
Captain Justin Fordhammer locked the doors to the armory, as the last of Jacob’s loggers walked down the hall, carrying the weapons he had given them moments before. Glancing at his time piece on his wrist, he saw that it would be dark any minute.
Walking to the nearest visphone, he tapped in the code that connected him to the monitoring station. Sergeant Myers’ haggard face appeared on the phone's screen. Fordhammer flinched when he saw the sergeant, realizing the older man was returning to the monitoring post early, after only a couple of hour’s sleep.
"Why don't you get some rest, sergeant," Fordhammer commented. "You worked a double yesterday. You didn't have a complete shift’s rest. Let someone else cover the monitoring station."
"I’m the most capable man, the most experienced," Myers replied. "The others are busy elsewhere. Don't worry about me, Captain, I’ll be all right."
Fordhammer hesitated, then said, "All right, Sergeant. I’ll be in to check on you later. Has there been any movement into our territory?"
"Not yet," Myers said. "But there has been movement along our borders. There seems to be Darranians gathering there, surrounding our territory, yet none have crossed the borders yet."
"Keep me posted," Fordhammer said. "It’s dark now. The deadline from their ultimatum is up. Now is the time they'll make their move if they’re going to do something. Let me know the moment they enter our territory."
"Of course, Captain. I‘ll page you immediately."
"I’m going to check on Kirt," Fordhammer continued. "I’ll see you in a little bit." The captain switched the phone off, and started down the hall.
When he reached the corridor in which Kirt was being kept, he immediately knew something was wrong. The lights in the corridor were dark. A couple of burn marks from laser blasts scarred the walls. Debris and papers littered the floor. A sharp stench stung his nostrils. Drawing his laser pistol, the captain took the portable visphone from his belt, punching the code for the monitor station.
"This is Fordhammer," the captain said. "Have the Darranians moved in yet?"
"No sir," Myers replied. "I told you I’d signal you the moment they enter our territory."
"Send a couple of men to corridor B-3," Fordhammer said. "Something’s going on. Maybe the natives found a way into the station undetected. I'm moving in to see if I can find out what happened." He began moving down the hall, his weapon in front of him, the visphone in his other hand. As he walked, he described the scene to Myers.
The corridor was in shambles. Tiles had been torn off the ceiling. Burned marks from laser blasts scarred the walls. The laser blasts had knocked out half the lights. A body lay partway down the corridor, face down.
As Fordhammer bent and rolled the body over, he exclaimed into the communicator, "It's Rollins! He was the guard assigned to Kirt. He's dead. It appears that he was struck with a heavy object, his skull is crushed." Fordhammer noticed that the guard still had his weapon held tightly in his fist, the energy in the laser pistol nearly drained from recent use.
As Fordhammer continued down the hall, a thought crossed his mind. "Contact Jacobs. I wonder if he’s responsible. He could be trying to turn the boy over to the natives himself, to try and save his equipment."
"Do you think he’d kill one of us to save his equipment?" Myers asked.
"I don’t know," Fordhammer replied. "He was greedy enough to want to give in to the locals demands, about killing the boy. His equipment is worth a lot of money." He continued walking.
When he reached the door to the chambers where Kirt had been placed, he saw Nolla laying sprawled in the doorway, his body holding the sliding door open. His clipboard was empty, accounting for the scattered papers in the hall. As Fordhammer bent down, he could tell the sociologist was dead. Nolla had been stabbed repeatedly. His shirt was torn and soaked with his own blood. The captain glanced inside the dimly lit room. "Kirt?" he called once, neither expecting nor receiving a reply.
"Jacobs is not answering his page," Myers said, catching Fordhammer's attention.
"I think they might be trying to make it look like the Darranians have entered the station," Fordhammer speculated. "The natives haven’t entered our territory yet, have they?"
"Not according to the monitors," Myers said. "Wait a moment. An alarm just went off in the industrial section."
"I’m on my way!" Fordhammer said, jogging back up the corridor. As he reached the beginning of the hall, the two guards Myers had dispatched to assist him arrived. The three of them began jogging toward the industrial section.
When they arrived at the industrial section, they slowed, walking cautiously. The first two rooms they passed lay in shambles. Desks were overturned, chairs smashed, papers littered the floor.
"Jacobs is trying to make it look like the Darranians did this," Fordhammer explained to the two guards with him.
"Look, Captain," one of the guards said, pointing to a body that lay on the floor, half buried under rubble.
Approaching the body, Fordhammer recognized him as one of the loggers. Turning it over, Fordhammer saw that it had wounds similar to those found on Nolla.
"What's going on?" he whispered, almost to himself, suddenly doubting that it was Jacobs. The Logger may be cold blooded, but he and his crew were a close knit bunch. He doubted if we would kill one of his own men. Unless the man had objected to Jacob’s plan. "Come on," he said. Rising, he leading the way deeper into the industrial section.
As they entered the large warehouse where the heavy equipment was stored, they saw Jacobs and one of his men crouching behind a Floating Skidder, their backs to Fordhammer and the guards. The Floating Skidder, now deactivated, rested on the ground, it’s grappling arms laying on the floor before it. The lights in the warehouse were dark, making it impossible to see what was beyond the skidder.
"Jacobs!" Fordhammer shouted.
As the two men turned, Fordhammer saw they were both armed.
"Drop your weapons!" Fordhammer ordered, aiming his pistol at the superintendent.
"You don’t understand!" Jacobs shouted back. "It’s out there!"
Suddenly, Fordhammer's visphone on his belt beeped, distracting him. When he glanced away for a moment, the two loggers ran, disappearing into the darkness.
"Get them!" the captain ordered the two guards with him. As they ran after the loggers, he shouted, "And be careful!"
Turning the visphone on, he saw Myer’s worn face, "Captain! The Darranians are moving! They are approaching from the forest beyond the industrial section, the forest the loggers have been working in."
"Send every available man to the warehouse!" he ordered. "Now!"
His pistol before him, he made his way into the darkness of the warehouse. Laser fire erupted to the left of him, followed by a man screaming. Jogging in that direction, he found one of his guards laying dead, his chest torn open. Glancing around, he saw Jacobs standing behind another Floating Skidder.
"Stop right there!" Fordhammer shouted, but the superintendent turned and disappeared behind the skidder.
Following him, Fordhammer edged his way around the logging equipment. Footsteps off to his right caught his attention.
Whirling, he saw a small form running in the darkness.
"Kirt?" Fordhammer called, running after the form. Tripping over a logging chain, his visphone and laser pistol slid across the floor. Swearing, he leapt after the items, unable to locate them in the dark.
"Justin?" a soft voice called. The voice was strained, accented. Looking up, Fordhammer saw the small form he had been chasing approaching out of the darkness. The voice was hard to understand, it was heavily accented with the Darranian tongue that was trying to speak English.
"Kirt?" Fordhammer replied. As the figure approached, he finally was able to get a look at it. Involuntarily, he gasped and scrambling backwards, trying unsuccessfully to regain his footing.
The youth was no longer the boy they had rescued from the hunters. It’s hands had transformed into long-fingered claws, that were mounted on long, muscular arms. It’s face was twisted, with a protruding, fang filled mouth, that resembling a snarling wolf. It’s fur was matted, and stained with blood.
"Justin," the thing hissed, moving forward.
Fordhammer continued to crawl away, his legs tangled in the chain he had tripped over. He glanced about, trying to locate the pistol he had dropped. Spotting it, he started to reach for it.
Kirt suddenly roared, leaping on the fallen captain. It landed on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Lashing out, it sent the pistol across the dark room.
Justin held his breath, preparing for the assault he was sure would come. The beast seized him by the throat. He could feel the sharp claws digging into his flesh. The thing raised it’s other hand, preparing to strike.
Suddenly, it scrambled off, stepping back. It continued to hiss, as it glared at Fordhammer, who began to ease himself into a sitting position. The thing began growling and spitting, trying to communicate, but Fordhammer was unable to understand without a translator.
"Come on, Kirt," Fordhammer said softly, holding his hand out. "I can help you. We can straighten this out."
Kirt moved forward, reaching out. Suddenly, it spun around roaring.
Fordhammer heard a blast from a laser rifle, and Kirt was sent stumbling across the room.
"No!" Fordhammer screamed, finally gaining his feet. He ran to the smoking form that had once been Kirt. Turning the youth over, he held him on his arms.
Jacobs and one of the guards came running up to them.
"Are you all right?" the logger asked. "I saw the others. It was going to attack you next!"
"Stay back!" Fordhammer shouted. "Just stay back!"
The alien opened it’s eyes, looking Fordhammer painfully in the eyes. It reached up and touched his check with it finger, it’s claws retracted.
"Justin..." Kirt hissed painfully, then gasped one final time, leaving Fordhammer biting back tears as he held the Chuma-kaa corpse.
* * *
A few days later, after things had returned to normal at the base, Captain Justin Fordhammer sat in Director Olivia Madison’s office, talking.
"Apparently, Chuma-Kaa are like werewolves on this planet," she explained. "Only unlike those on Earth, the ones here aren’t fables. When the natives told us we’d all be dead by dawn, they meant the Chuma-Kaa would slay us. They were trying to warn us, not threatening us."
"Not werewolves," Fordhammer said. "Just another variation of their race. Dr. LeClair is studying the corpse, to discover the differences between it and the other Darranians, and how it was able to metamorphosis so rapidly. I think we could have helped him, if we had just known what to expect sooner. Kirt was only trying to reach the forest the loggers were working on. He was hoping the trees would help him to elude the natives he knew would be hunting him."
"Relations with the natives have returned to normal," Olivia said. "They tried to come to our aid, knowing our ignorance of the Chuma-Kaa. Unfortunately, they were too late to save anyone."
They sat silently for several minutes. Finally Olivia began talking. "I understand you’ve put in for a transfer. You want to leave before your tour of duty hear is over."
"Yes."
"It won’t look good on your record," Olivia continued.
"I know," Fordhammer replied. "I’m thinking of asking for a discharge from the service. I’ll loose some benefits, but...." He walked to the window, and stared outside into the forest. "I think I need some time for myself. I think maybe I’ll take it and return to Earth for a while."
Olivia rose from her desk, and walk over to him. She put her hand on his shoulder. "It isn’t your fault," she said softly. "We didn’t know what he was, or what was going to happen."
"I know," Fordhammer said. "I just wish things could have turned out differently. Nolla and Rollins might still be alive. And Kirt, if only we had known what would happen. Maybe Jacobs was right, it is their planet. Maybe we should have turned Kirt over to them..."
"You couldn’t have done that," she said. "And neither could I."
Fordhammer shrugged. "It’s still my fault they’re dead." He stepped away from her, and moved toward the door. "I guess I’ll go finish the report I’m preparing for my supervisors back home."
"If you decide to stay and finish your tour, I’ll see to it we get additional assistance from headquarters," Olivia said. "And I can arrange a short vacation. Maybe it will help take the load off."
"No thanks," Fordhammer said. "I think I’ll take some time off for now. I’ll talk to you later."
"All I’m saying is, you don’t have to make an immediate decision," she continued. "Take a couple of week’s off before you decide. I haven’t sent the paperwork on your transfer through yet."
"All right," he said with a sigh. "A couple of weeks, but I’m not promising anything."
Shutting the door behind him, he made his way back to his office.
Bio: "I have been reading Science Fiction and Fantasy since grade school. My hobbies are hunting, fishing, golfing, writing, reading, and arguing with my teenage daughters. I recently had a short story published in the March issue of Aphelion Science Fiction. I live with my wife and three teenage daughters in the Northwoods of Rhinelander, Wisconsin, where the four seasons are early-winter, mid-winter, late winter, and July."
E-mail: plbrgmn@newnorth.net
Visit Aphelion's Lettercolumn and voice your opinion of this story.
Return to the Aphelion main page.