Alien Alliance (8 page)

Another voice was heard calling and Trlin
looked up. A bigger one, same species. It came over, seeming
annoyed. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere! Mum
will be furious! Do you want to be grounded?”

“These people are in trouble. They want our
help.” The bigger one looked at Trlin who had been listening and
was beginning to see what was wrong.

“Are you their parent?”

“No, the sister of this one,” Ilse said
pointing at Bea.

“Where are your parents?”

“Back in the city.”

“Please can you bring them here. Please ask
them to help us,” Trlin begged.

Bea interrupted, “He can’t go to the city.
He needs us to pay a bill for him. Urgently. I don’t know how
to.”

“Oh. Mum will know. What do we pay it
with?”

Trlin handed her a credit transfer. Next
second she had the little ones on the run. Trlin watched his rather
large Transferable Debit Card go with them. The older one didn’t
know where to pay it. Or who she was paying it for. Oh well. They
might bring their parents back. They might cash it in. Probably the
latter. He went back into the cave, very worried. He wondered if he
should try to get into the city again but the last time he had
tried he had got nowhere. No one would help. Most wouldn’t even
talk to him.

Mid morning of the next day, another adult
came at speed to get him, “Those Aliens are coming back. They’ve
bought others, bigger ones. There’s about eight of them.”

Kaswa looked at his fuel gauge. That was
going to cut it fine but not as fine as he had. He stretched
stiffly and smiled. He’d reached over 5,000 hours flying time
today. He’d never have managed that at home, not within two years,
not legally. By the time this was over he’d be up two flight
levels, they were already licensed for multiple planes and
spaceships and for the positions of Pilot, Passenger Licensed
Pilot, Weapons Specialist, Communicator and Navigator and they had
nearly enough between them to buy a small freighter. They almost
had enough now for the ship although they’d need more for buying
cargo. But the first flight could be passengers going home. If they
could do that they could be off home in two months. And they’d then
have a chance.

It had been two years of a steep learning
curve. Two years of being dirty, living rough, spent flying,
studying flying, in the training simulators or sleeping. Impossibly
long days, like today, up for 23 hours so far and 17 of them spent
flying. The pay was terrific, if you could handle being shot at. He
smiled. He wouldn’t have categorised either himself or Aswin as
being risk takers but neither of them were getting anywhere. Two
dates in ten years of trying and neither came to anything. Ditto
Aswin. It really got to him. It got to Kaswa too. His parents had
impoverished themselves to have him. And he hadn’t been the girl
they had prayed for. But they’d still had him. He was lucky; a
second son. An endangered species.

At least Aswin had had a good job, flying
for an importing business. Kaswa thought of his list of boring,
badly paid jobs but he didn’t have Aswin’s brains. Well, that
wasn’t exactly true. Aswin learned because he was a natural
scholar, he enjoyed learning. Kaswa smiled thinking of how he had
shocked them both when he really put his mind to it. His learning
curve had gone up like a rocket. He had been determined to catch up
to Aswin this time and he nearly had. Aswin had had to put on a
dedicated spurt to keep ahead despite having being well ahead at
the start of a competition he didn’t know he was in. Until Kaswa
nearly caught up with him. Kaswa smiled at the memory of the shock
on Aswin’s face. Within a month it would be a dead heat as they
both would have all the qualifications it was possible to get here.
Which was all they needed and more.

Until Aswin had trained him, he hadn’t been
a pilot. He hadn’t known it would be his thing. He had excellent
spatial awareness. He always knew how big he was, how high off the
ground, how wide, no matter what he was driving or flying. Just
like Aswin. It was a gift. Within two months of getting here, he
had qualified for his pilot’s license and thanks also to the
previous experience he had had with Aswin, he had a pilot’s job.
Best job he’d ever had. He loved it. It sure beat cannon fodder. It
paid a lot better too. Of course statistically, his life expectancy
was bad, which was why the higher pay. But he had an instinct for
this. Or a lot of good luck. In nearly two years, he hadn’t got a
scratch. His plane had been hit but not him. He’d beat Aswin there.
It was a carefully guarded secret from their parents that Aswin had
been hit twice; one lot of shrapnel in his leg not long after
they’d got here, and one dose of concussion, a broken arm and a few
odds and sods of bumps, gashes and bruises when he was hit and
crashed. Kaswa knew nothing about it until it was all over and
Aswin was patched up and in the medical centre. But the main point
was that now, financially and in terms of qualifications, they were
set up for life.

He was sore and tired. It had been a long
day hauling supplies and troops but at least he hadn’t got shot at
today. He yawned and tried to concentrate. The Tower still wasn’t
answering. Visibility was bad with misty rain and clouds occluding
the moons making it unusually dark. Navigation was the first exam
he’d passed so he knew where he was. Fifteen minutes later and he
could see the landing zone. The lights were on. He circled, noting
some crashed planes hauled to the side. They were burnt out. Had
there been a crash? Collision? Had someone hit the Control Tower?
It was only a skimpy, temporary structure, little more than a hut.
He could see it but it was dark. That didn’t explain why they
weren’t contacting him by phone and were not answering theirs. Had
they been shelled? Over run?

“Stop panicking,” he told himself. He didn’t
listen to himself. Low on fuel, he was out of options. Land here or
find somewhere else in the dark? Lousy choice. Reluctantly, he
lined up as directed by the lights on one of the two runways and
landed, the lights beckoning him in. He came to a stop at the edge
of the runway and taxied off to park. At least he was being
directed, albeit electronically. He logged in his hours on his and
then the Zeobani data link, did his checks, flipped open the fuel
door and when he couldn’t delay any longer he stiffly and slowly
eased himself out and pushed the button to let down the steps. He
climbed down.

As Kaswa cleared the side of the plane he
saw four Nashi waiting for him. Armed with disrupters. Pointed at
his torso. Disrupters destroyed nerves; sensory and motor. One
collapsed in a screaming heap. The next ten or so minutes of life
were spent in agony as all the nerves were destroyed. Inability to
move was instant as the motor nerves wouldn’t follow instructions.
Death came when the lungs or heart stopped. Consciousness remained
almost to the last. So did pain. These Nashi were juveniles. Even
more pitiless than the adults. He didn’t like Nashi which was one
of the reasons he was happy to work for the Zeobani against these
invading Nashi. Nashi considered themselves an alpha Race, were
humourless, lacked compassion, wouldn’t know empathy if they were
hit by it and had a nasty dollop of cruelty, which was why their
weapon of choice was the disrupter.

He didn’t speak Nashi. He didn’t need to.
Nashi was spoken using many sounds he couldn’t duplicate and body
language. He could perfectly understand their body language. It
said, “Got you. Do the wrong thing and you’re dead, go that way,
hands up, I don’t care if you live or die, dead would be
enjoyable.” Their fat, khaki, simian bodies were rocking with
enjoyment and insolence and their long muzzles clacked in contempt.
They were wearing army uniforms and had spiked bands on their long
fat powerful tails. Which they liked using as clubs. Their fighting
limb of choice. Although young, they were already over two meters
tall when standing upright as they were now. And trigger happy. Why
was he still alive?

He complied. Exactly. He tried to keep his
expression neutral. His attitude could get him killed. Anything
could get him killed. Very unpleasantly. As he entered the pilot’s
barracks, he saw about 20 dead People of varying Races and what
looked almost like a firing squad of adult Nashi.

“Scum, worthless creature, you will pilot
for us or you will die. Choose.”

“What do you want me to pilot?”

“Gas planes.”

“No.” It came out before he really thought.
He would not do that! He would not kill the Zeobani! “Never.” He
added as he straightened, defiantly, waiting, and gasped as he was
shot. He hit the floor and lost consciousness. His body was pounced
on by the juveniles who, in payment for the debasing task of
stripping him, could keep everything they wanted.

Some considerable time later, he woke up,
his body a mess of agony. Everything hurt so much. He was dizzy and
had the worst headache he had ever had. His head felt like it was
being crushed. Horrified, he realized he was naked. He knew what
that meant. His bracelet containing all his ID was gone, his bank
access link, his precious data link, his phone, his rights, his
freedom. He was now a slave. But why? And how had he survived? Did
he want to?

Over the next two hours, he managed to
breathe properly, sit up, and look around. A Zeobani he didn’t know
brought him some water. Reduced to drinking water like a slave,
which he was. He drank, finding the headache eased a little over a
few minutes. He must be dehydrated. He wondered how long he had
been unconscious. He remained dizzy and knew he couldn’t stand.
Another three hours went by before he could stand up but he didn’t
know this as his watch had disappeared with his data link. Which
was now owned by one of the juveniles. It wouldn’t work for them
though. At least he could console himself a fraction with that.

He carefully got up and staggered around
looking for Aswin but couldn’t find him. He drank more water from
the communal container. Seeing the Zeobani sitting in a group, he
went over, sitting down beside Disixim, one of the other pilots
whom he recognised.

“What happened? he asked, “I thought we were
winning.”

“We suspect foul play. We were attacked by
ships we did not recognize. We have lost the planet. We had to
surrender.”

Kaswa gasped. This was terrible. The Zeobani
had developed this planet at enormous cost. Now those hateful Nashi
had it. There were over 850 million here, mostly Zeobani. It also
meant he and Aswin had lost all their money which was in the
Zeobani investment houses. He sighed, all they had now was their
qualifications. They hadn’t sent their money home because of the
10% transfer fee applied to any money you didn’t take with you.
This was to reduce the amount of money earned and then sent off
planet. The rules of war now meant the whole planet, everything on
it and all resources now belonged to the Nashi. Every home,
apartment, vehicle and every item in a shop, factory, home etc now
belonged to the Nashi. Private property abolished. The rules of war
were simple. Hand it over or die. The surviving Zeobani, now they
had surrendered, were not supposed to be killed. But what would
actually happen now is that almost every Zeobani on the planet
would try to leave. And since all their money and other assets had
effectively been pinched, it would be up to the other Zeobani
planets to help transport them to another world. Which they would
do. But the Nashi were likely to charge an exit fee. Kaswa was very
sorry. He liked the Zeobani and they had been very good to the
Niseyen. He wondered what would happen to himself and if his
parents would be able to raise the exit fee. If he was allowed to
leave. He now had no rights. He could be sold. He could already
have been sold. He would be the last to know.

The Zeobani had had five developed planets
which gave them superpower status. This was therefore a huge blow,
he realised. The repercussions would be enormous up to and
including a reduction in their overall credit rating. This applied
to all four of their remaining planets. There would also be a
re-negotiation of any political alliance they had. Individual
businesses would also be affected. Everything would be affected. It
was a mess.

“What did they tell you or ask you? How did
you upset them?”

“They asked me, well they told me, that I
was to pilot gas planes. I refused. I don’t understand how I’m
still alive. I thought I was hit with a disrupter.”

“They have a stun version of a
disrupter.”

“Oh. I hadn’t heard that. How long was I
out?”

“A day and a half.”

“What now? Why did they keep us alive? Why
enslaved?”

“We don’t know. Some have already been
rounded up and taken away. We guess to be sold. We don’t know.”

Kaswa sat in silence. The usually cheerful
and exuberant Zeobani were in shock, still and quiet. Their eight
tentacles, usually endlessly in motion or playing tricks, were
slumped on the ground. They looked greyer than normal. Having no
clothes was their normal state of dress since they were amphibian
but all their jewellery and technology was gone. The belts or mesh
holders worn so proudly as they earned them. They looked beaten.
They were beaten. Kaswa was having trouble taking all this in.

Three more days passed as Kaswa learnt to
drink water and eat the bland yucky paste that passed for food. He
had to pull the lever and put the paste on his hands and eat it
like an animal. At least he had hands. Some other Races didn’t. A
large Avian chose to starve. He thought it was a Clet. Some People
of many Races just gave up and died including Zeobani. This latter
shocked him. Zeobani were born optimists. Every day, after the
lights were turned on, some Nashi would come around and drag out
the dead. There were no Cleaners and no deodorants. The stench was
awful and getting worse. And he was not getting used to it! A slow
anger burned in him.