CHAPTER 6
Surrounded by 110 Wichu guards and one massive ochre-scaled Solinian in the control room of the Whiskerchin, Phutes held his ground. Captain Bedelev snarled at him, showing sharp, yellow-white teeth. She pounded on his chest with a forefinger. The sharp claw at its end made no more impression upon his stony skin than the beat of her words on his audio receptors, but Phutes felt as though she had painted him with filth.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned her. “I have told you.”
“And I have told you for the last time,” she shouted, her voice echoing through the translator, “get the hell off my bridge and stay off! We’re getting you to the platform as fast as we can. We’ll enter the Zang end of Imperium space in about thirty hours. Stop nagging me! It’s not going to make any difference.”
Phutes listened to Bedelev’s mewling and concentrated on the translated words instead. Could these uncouth creatures not even count in a civilized manner? Echoed by the weird grunts and groans of the device, his voice sounded just as peculiar in his own aural receptors.
“We are not moving fast enough,” he said. Why couldn’t she understand the urgency? “We must communicate with the Zang sooner. Change course. A Zang will be that way near now.” He swung a massive hand toward galactic northwest, at an acute angle from the direction in which the Whiskerchin was heading. With the aid of the electronic devices and personalities on ships throughout occupied space, Fovrates had obtained information indicating the energy that heralded the impending arrival of a Zang was moving toward a nexus point. On the star charts it was designated as a planet occupied by carbon-based life-forms. In spite of the disgust Phutes felt, such a serendipitous encounter must not be squandered. The eternal creatures moved so swiftly that he might miss meeting it. “No time must be wasted.”
“What does that mean?” Bedelev asked, lifting her bright pink lip in a sneer. “‘That way’ is not a navigational direction, and we are not wasting any time! This ship is going flat out. It’s a cruise liner, not a destroyer. Any faster, and we could lose structural integrity when we hit the jumps.”
“Not true,” Phutes said, annoyed by her prevarication. “Fovrates tells more is possible. Improvement percent of 11010.”
“Crap,” Bedelev said, disbelief on her furry face. “If anything could be improved twenty-six percent, it damned well ought to have been. We’d have to jettison half of the life support and other systems and shore up the basic infrastructure to make that work.”
Phutes concentrated his gaze on the round black eyes, as painful as that was. “Then do so.”
The slime was obdurate. She folded her arms.
“Oh, please. Not a chance. We’re not endangering anyone’s life for your amusement. We’re getting you to the platform as fast as we can.”
“Change course. Move faster.”
Bedelev narrowed her black eyes at him.
“Not a chance, stone face. This is what you paid for. We’ve got other passengers going the same way as you. We might miss the explosion if we made any other stops, and I’m not about to let my company get sued because we were dumb enough to take you on board. We have to pass through Imperium space to reach the Zang territory. That means going through a border station. That’s our next stop. I’m not starting a war just because you people can’t make up your minds. What if you change them again? Then where will I be?”
“I will not change!” Phutes insisted. “Our sources have detected a Zang on route to the platform. We must approach it soonest, before the event!” He swallowed his pride and made an appeal, as much as it pained him to do it. “We are your …” He could hardly force itself to use the term “… customers. Take us where we want to go.”
Bedelev lifted her chin and folded her arms.
“Oh, so you want to renegotiate? I’ll have to take it to the other passengers. They’ll demand compensation. A change fee will cost you a thousand credits apiece. That’s 1111100000 in your tongue, give or take a few digits.”
Phutes could not contain his outrage.
“No! You will change course now, or we will miss the one with whom we came to speak!”
The furry brow lifted in curiosity.
“I thought you were going to watch the Zang blow up a planet, like everyone else.”
Phutes clenched his fists, determined not to strike the Wichu. The guards moved in to surround him. They could hardly hurt him with their weapons, but they could push him and all his people out into space. It wouldn’t kill them, but it would seriously inconvenience them and their mission.
“More!” he bellowed. “Foolish slime! Listen to me! Move the ship in the direction we need!”
“That’s it,” the captain said, throwing up a hand. Phutes flinched backward to avoid having any of the flying fur she had just shed land on him. “Take him to the brig. I’m tired of him turning up here every time he thinks of something else to complain about.” She marched down the ramp toward her command chair. Phutes tramped after her.
“No! Listen to me! We must change course!”
The chief guard, indicated by the deep blue flashings on his chest straps, headed him off and beckoned to him with an open palm.
“Come on, buddy. Time to go.”
Phutes turned his voice translator up to the highest volume. “No! I am not going until the captain agrees to my needs.”
The Wichu winced but didn’t back down. “She’s not gonna do that. Now, let’s move it out so she can get back to running the ship.”
“I am not leaving.”
“All right, buddy, have it your way.”
The Wichus unwound coils of bright yellow, flexible, woven strapping. Phutes calculated the tensile strength as best he could. Possibly, if more than 101 secured his limbs they could immobilize them, but their pitiful furry bodies could not keep him from breaking free. Still, he had no intention of allowing them to try. He backed away from the guards, putting a waist-high rail between him and the squad. The angle of incline beneath his feet changed, telling him he was on the ramp that led toward the navigation console.
One of the guards looped his strap and began to whirl it over his head. Phutes changed the vector of his descent. Behind him was an alcove into which he could move, preventing the cables from dropping down over his head. He stepped backward. A soft obstruction met him and heavy restraints locked around his chest from the back. Phutes let out a bellow of protest.
“All right, Mr. Phutes.” It was the Solinian. “Move it out. Now.”
“Ech ech ech!” Phutes spat, wriggling to avoid contact. “Don’t touch me! Remove your slime from me! Ech!”
“Who are you calling slimy, kitty litter?” the enormous scaled being demanded, breathing hot, fetid air past his aural receptor. “Creator’s Teeth, but you scream like a hatchling.”
The Kail flexed his torso, trying to tear loose from the Solinian’s grasp. The stinking, rotting organic creature held fast. Phutes writhed and kicked. He could feel the rotting organic particles clinging to his flesh. He would have to scrub himself for 1010 days to get it off! With a mighty heave, he shrugged, seeking to break the Solinian’s hold.
“You realize,” the lizard-being gritted, sounding amused, “if you tear my arms off, you’ll get covered in my blood and guts. How do you like that?”
“No!” Phutes bellowed. The stench overwhelmed his taste sensors, and the very idea made him shiver to the soles of his feet. “Stop touching me! Stop it, stop it, stop it!” His voice reached a high-pitched shriek.
Yellow bands dropped around both of them. By the time Phutes realized it, the Solinian had let go, and the restraints tightened over his limbs instead. The lizard-being moved around to stick his long snout in Phutes’s face as the Wichu guards leaned back to hold their cables taut.
“Whiner,” he sneered.
A humming noise alerted Phutes to the advent of a device on heavy wheels. A hook swam into his field of view and locked into a ring in the center of his chest. Phutes let out a honk of alarm. His feet lost contact with the floor. 11 more Wichus threw cables around his legs and tied them together. Now his whole body felt polluted.
“Let me down!”
“All together now, crew!” the captain bellowed. Phutes kicked as he dangled from a braced rig. The wheeled device, a flat platform made of nonreactive alloys, was rolled underneath him. Phutes struggled to escape. He sent impulses that would have raised a response from any electrical circuits connected to the platform, but there were none. The straps tightened around him the more he struggled. Phutes thrashed, trying to free himself. The Solinian, wearing no more expression than Phutes himself, pushed the platform off the bridge and into the lift shaft. The sturdy car carried them downward. Phutes bellowed.
“Siblings, aid me! Come to me, Fovrates!”
“Shut up,” the Solinian said. “We locked up all of your gang already. You’re the last.”
At the lowest deck, the Solinian caught the handhold and swung out of the stream, taking the cart with him. He rolled it down the long corridor, past numerous doors. Those opened up at Phutes’s supersonic summons, but no rescue came from within them.
“Fovrates, where are you? Help me!”
No answer. Phutes sought to put himself in contact with any grounded metal, to tap into the vibrations humming through the ship to reach his kinsman. His limbs were pinioned so that he couldn’t touch anything but the nonresponsive plastic.
At last, the enormous Solinian yanked the cart to a halt in front of a wide door. Around him. Phutes could hear bellowing of his fellows from rooms along the corridor.
“We are here, brother! Help us!”
“I cannot!” Phutes called back. “I am trapped! Break out, come to me, for Yesa’s sake!”
He heard the buffeting of bodies against heavy obstructions. The trapped Kail were throwing themselves at walls and doors.
“You are close to normal,” Phutes appealed to the Solinian. “You have more native silicon in your body than these rotting Wichu. Let me free! We can take over this ship and free ourselves of the carbon-based menace. Help me, scaly being!”
“That’s Mr. Carbon-based Menace Scaly Being to you, rocky,” the creature said, showing a mouthful of shardlike teeth. “Forget it. You can sit in here until we get to the platform ship.” At the top of the door frame was a brilliant white eye bolt. The Solinian pulled one of the cables securing Phutes through it, then hoisted him off the cart with one massive shrug. Phutes kicked and swung, trying to free himself, but his momentum only propelled him through the door. The Solinian swung it closed. It boomed shut, and bolts shot deep into the walls around it. When Phutes rolled to his feet, the pinioning cables fell to the ground. He immediately tried to shoulder his way out of the door. It was as though it had become one with the frame embracing it. The Solinian shouted over the boom each impact made.
“Someone’ll be around with some lava dust and water later on. In the meantime, yell all you want. The captain will let you know when we reach the platform. Quit banging! You’ll hurt yourself. The captain doesn’t like it when the passengers hurt themselves.”
Phutes stopped heaving his body against the door. He would find a way to be free of this prison! He looked around.
“Are you all right, my brother?” Sofus asked, his voice echoing hollowly. “I am on the next rock to you.”
“I am intact,” Phutes said, putting all the indignity he felt into his words. “I am filthy! Are you well?”
“We are. I did not get my bath before the slime surrounded us all and took us. They touched us. How dare they?”
“We’ll make them pay for the indignity,” Phutes assured him. “Can you speak to Fovrates?”
“No. There is no metal here. We are all speaking by voice only. Do you think they took him into custody as well?”
“I don’t know. He is considered one of them.”
Sofus paused a long while. Phutes knew he was offended by the very thought of being one with the hairy Wichu, even though it was part of their long-term purpose.
“We must get out of here and complete our mission.”
“We will find a way,” Phutes assured him. “Yesa is counting on us.”
He threw the cables away from him. They were of no use, being too small for him to manipulate with his thick hands. Phutes took careful inventory of the chamber. Except that the floor was made in two levels with a step down of approximately .11 of his body height, and that it was 10 times as wide, but almost 11 times as tall as his body, it was featureless. The gray-black walls were lined with more plastic and nonreactive polymers. He could get no nourishment there. That must be what the Solinian meant: he would be brought nutrients and the means to clean himself. The lower part of the floor was furnished with a drain that smelled sickeningly of decaying organic compounds. It was meant to hold one such as he in solitary confinement.
Phutes looked up. But he was not in solitary confinement, not when he had the means to communicate with his fellow Kail. In the center of the ceiling, a light fixture gave off a weak approximation of the sun’s light he enjoyed on the motherworld. He stood under it and smelled the air carefully. It did not stink of organic compounds. In other words, it must be fed by electricity, not chemical reaction. If he could reach it, he could use it.
The slime who had built the prison had taken Kail physiology into consideration, but not Kail intelligence and determination. While it lacked electronics that could be corrupted by his influence, it could still be forced to serve his needs. He tossed aside the round drain cover in the lower floor, set his hands on either side of the opening provided, and heaved.
It took nearly 1100 hours, but the plastic began to bend upward. Phutes’s brachial and dorsal joints strained mightily. He hoped that his structural integrity would prove greater than the ship’s plates. He refused to believe that it was impossible. At 11101 hours, a section of the floor broke off in his hands, sending him tumbling back against the wall. It boomed with the impact.
“Brother, are you all right?” Sofus shouted.
Phutes regarded the chunk of plastic in his grasp with grim satisfaction. It measured 10 times the diameter of his head, and was nearly 11 times as thick.
“Better than all right,” he said. “Our chances of success have just multiplied 10000 times.”
“How?”
“Wait. I will tell you when I succeed. I don’t want those listening to know.”
Twice during the next light period, Wichu guards came to the door. Through a hatch too small for the Kail to climb through, they passed collapsible tubs of water and purified stone dust. Phutes stopped his efforts to sift through the latter, judging whether any of it was fit to be added to his substance. They were used to providing Fovrates with nourishment, so Phutes took a chance that it would be suitable to nourish Kail. He tested it on his skin. It adhered well. The acids in his system bubbled up, surrounded each particle. He couldn’t sense any insulting impurities. It tasted mostly of silicon and aluminum, but carefully devoid of conductive elements. These Wichu were no fools. But they were ignorant of Kail determination.
Once he felt the restorative effects of the new minerals in his body, he resumed his work. Within 1011 more hours, he had pried up another piece of flooring. A join that had not been properly sealed yielded yet one further block of plastic, this one measuring almost half his breadth.
He searched the subflooring for contacts to the electrical system. More than a meter of insulation supported the cell floor, but it and the platform beneath it were also nonconductive. He considered tunneling through the insulation and coming up through a service hatch somewhere else in the ship, but he did not fit in the gap he had produced. The ceiling was his only hope.
Phutes eyed the 11 irregular blocks of plastic he had torn loose. It would not be easy to balance one on top of the other, especially considering the condition of what remained of the floor, but he calculated that together he could reach the ceiling. Freedom was within his grasp.
Time after time, he stacked them together, trying to create a stable ladder. He had assumed that the last block would be his base, since it was larger and heavier than the others, but it had no flat edges. Reluctantly, after more than 11000 tries, he concluded that it must go at the top of the stack.
“Mealtime!” the Solinian’s voice interrupted him. Phutes ceased his efforts and positioned himself close to the door, preparing to lurch out if given the chance. The hatch opened. Phutes surged forward, propelled by all his legs.
The guards had no intention of allowing an escape to happen. As his head emerged from the square opening, they dropped a length of fabric down onto it. Wetness dripped over his shoulders and down his arms. It smelled of decaying vegetation.
“Slime! Slime!”
Shrieking, Phutes retreated into the cell. A cloth tub of water and packet of stone dust were heaved in after him. The hatch slammed shut, and was locked tight with the alloy key.
Phutes sat on the floor, bellowing his outrage. He seized the water and poured it down over himself, seeking to cleanse off the insult. In the hall, he heard muffled cries of protest from the other Kail.
“Cut it out, or you’ll get that, too!” the Solinian barked. “Just sit tight until we get you to the platform! That’s what you want, isn’t it? Stay put and shut up!”
Shaking with fury, Phutes threw aside the water container and rose to his feet.
That was the last chance. He would show no mercy to these creatures either. Once the Kail wreaked their vengeance upon the humans, it would be the Wichus’ turn. But, one step at a time. The Kail had been patient, but no more.
He piled the insulation high and rammed the smallest block into it. Holding it steady, he balanced the medium-sized piece on it. They both teetered. He would have to hold them in place while he climbed.
The last and largest piece had to be propped on top. Phutes steadied the heavy mass with both his hands.
From the upper portion of the floor, he placed one foot carefully on the top of his wobbling tower. It slid apart with a clatter. Patiently, Phutes reassembled his structure, turning the topmost piece so it faced in the opposite direction.
“Brother, are you all right?” Sofus called.
“I am patient,” Phutes called back. “Silence.”
The Kail’s voices died away in the corridor. The guards would have been wise to pay attention to the sudden quiet, but they did not understand the Kail. They had had their chance.
The tower fell apart time and time again. Phutes rebuilt it with focused calm, adjusting the structure a degree or 10 each way for maximum steadiness. At last, when he put a foot on it, it didn’t move. He shifted his weight onto that foot and brought the next one up to the makeshift platform. It held! He wanted to bellow his triumph, but that might bring the guards again.
Instead, he concentrated on holding as still as he could while he brought the last foot to the top of the structure. The tower sank centimeters into the mound of insulation. Phutes did not have much time until it collapsed irretrievably. He raised his hands with the greatest of care, until he touched the light fixture.
The conductive materials in his skin connected with the metal contacts. Instantly, he felt the surge of electricity flow through his body and with it, the communications and programming that made the ship function.
“Fovrates,” he said, sending his voice as an impulse that only another Kail would hear and understand. “Fovrates, they have taken us prisoner. It is time. We must take control now, or the opportunity will be lost!”
The low chuckle of the elder Kail came back via the circuits. “I have waited a long time for this moment. It is in our hands. Patience, now, and listen.”
At that moment, the tower of blocks collapsed from under Phutes’s feet. There was just enough purchase for him to hold onto the light frame with both hands.
He heard the outcry, through the circuits and through the air. His translator picked up on voices from over 110000 angry Wichu, crew and passengers alike.
“Who turned off the lights?”
“Why won’t the lifts work?”
“Engineering! My door is stuck! I can’t get out of the head!”
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Do you like that, brother?” Fovrates asked.
“Infinitely.” Phutes smiled at the walls of his prison. Now that the Wichu were in the same fix, it did not bother him as much. He hung onto the light fixture, enjoying the annoyed outcry. “Take us to the Zang.”