Rebel Fleet Page 7

  “Aw shit, I’m just dying to clock Leo!” Samson complained. He eyed the back of my head, and his fists squeezed his tube convulsively.

  Shaw’s voice continued explaining. “There will be a central rock formation. The team to take that rock and plant one member’s tube at the top of the highest point for sixty seconds, wins the heat. The rest will be eliminated.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning to the others. “Listen up, I have a plan.”

  “Sod off!” Dalton said. “Shaw didn’t make you leader.”

  “Do you have a plan to win, Dalton?” Dr. Chang asked.

  “I do,” Gwen said. “Why not do nothing? Why don’t we hide and wait for someone else to take the rock?”

  They looked at her like she was crazy.

  “Winning doesn’t help us,” she said. “Let’s lose and go back to Earth instead.”

  Dalton gave her a nasty laugh. “We thought the same thing when we went for each other last time,” he said. “but it didn’t work out. Every crazy rube on Earth will be gunning for you. You’ll be killing and getting killed, same as up here. There’s no way out of the game.”

  “Except, maybe, to win,” Samson said. “At least, that’s what we’re hoping.”

  Gwen looked lost, but determined. “All right then. I’m willing to listen to Leo’s plan.”

  “Okay Blake,” Dalton said. “What do you have?”

  “We advance to the bottom of the rock,” I said, “but we don’t charge up. We fight anyone who comes at us, that’s it. When they hurt each other at the top, we charge all at once at the end. Hopefully, we’ll have our five against two or three. Got it?”

  “That’s it?” Dalton said in disbelief. “I could have come up with that!”

  “But you didn’t,” Samson pointed out.

  “Shut up.”

  The floor flashed to yellow, which I knew by now meant we had to get the hell out of our cells. Next, one of the walls vanished, revealing what looked like some kind of rock garden.

  There were boulders everywhere. Some were flat with canted surfaces. Others were rounded off on top. In the middle was a huge rock, much bigger than the rest. Our destination was obvious.

  “Careful!” shouted Dr. Chang, pointing down. “The floor is blue, only the rocks are red!”

  “What the hell does blue mean?” Samson asked.

  “Why don’t you go down there and find out?” Dalton suggested with a nasty chuckle.

  Samson had one foot in the air. I yanked him back.

  “Hop from rock to rock. No one touches the floor,” I ordered.

  This time, no one questioned my authority. As an ex-officer, it came to me naturally enough to give orders. This was the strangest form of boot-camp I’d ever heard of, but the dynamics of leadership hadn’t changed.

  Dalton led the way. Crouching, he hopped nimbly from rock to rock, sticking to the flat ones.

  I followed with Samson and Dr. Chang behind me. Gwen brought up the rear.

  We could see the other teams. There were five groups of five, all of us converging on the center.

  It was immediately obvious they had plans of their own. Two groups raced straight for the mountain. A third hung back uncertainly, right where they’d started.

  The fourth fell to quarreling among themselves. One was pitched off a rocky shelf onto the blue floor. I heard screams, but they were cut short.

  “Man down!” chuckled Dalton. “Let’s hope all these fools murder each other.”

  We followed our plan, moving to the base of the rock cautiously, taking our time. We didn’t rush upward, but we got a front-row seat as the early-birds did.

  There was a ferocious battle up there. At one point, I thought someone had thrown a club at us, but then the owner came crashing down past us. His neck was broken, but his eyes were still wide and alert. He rolled into the blue, and he fried there.

  His body began to smoke in time. We watched with our lips curled in disgust.

  “That’s not right,” Dalton said. “They aren’t just shocking them.”

  “No,” Samson agreed, “he’s cooking down there.”

  The two teams that had met to do glorious battle at the top of the boulder now separated. Three members of one group were left victorious, while the last man of the losing team ran off. The flag was planted, and a stand-off began.

  We stared expectantly at the other two teams. They looked back at us with equal hopefulness, but no one moved.

  A big number appeared on the ceiling then, or rather, appeared to float a few feet from it. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight…

  “It’s a countdown!” Samson said, “We have to go for it now!”

  “That’s what the others want. Hold.” I said.

  “You’re going to screw us, Blake,” Dalton complained. “I always knew you were a cock-up waiting to happen.”

  “Hold,” I said firmly.

  The four-man team lost their cool first. They charged up the hill, howling. Maybe they’d realized this was their best chance. With only four people, they were weaker than the rest—except for the current king-of-the-hill group, which was down to three.

  The battle was vicious. It was best of three vs. a mean group of four. The higher ground seemed to be helping the current kings, but that didn’t—

  “Behind us!” Gwen shouted.

  The fifth group, who’d hung back right at the door to their collective cells, had circled around while we’d watched the battle for the center. They were springing from rock to rock, coming right at us from behind.

  “Samson, take point!” I shouted.

  Spotted, the enemy gave a wild battle cry. Their gaze had an animalistic quality. I suspected it was a glimmer of the rage coming from their syms. I don’t think any of us would have been so aggressive without this constant goading from inside our minds. We went animal when threatened, shedding away thousands of years of civilized behavior and breeding.

  My own team began to make guttural noises in response. I didn’t know why the sym was less influential on my emotions—but it clearly was.

  I flanked Samson on the right. Dalton moved to stand on the big man’s left. Behind us were our weakest members, Gwen and Dr. Chang.

  The enemy line came on hard, but seeing they were spotted, some of them fell behind the rest. Three met our line of three, and the fighting began.

  Dalton darted in, quick as a cat, and struck a bigger man in the kneecap. The guy went down howling. He tried to grab at the rock, but Dalton beat at his fingers viciously, dislodging his grip.

  Dalton’s victim fell into a crack between two rocks and began an awful screeching as he burned down there.

  Samson wrestled with his opponent, who came in close. Using his great strength, he threw the guy toward the pits.

  Unfortunately, the guy slammed into Dalton, and they were knocked off the rock together.

  My antagonist faced me next. He was a tall, lanky guy. He thrust with his club, trying to touch me with it. I knew the tip would numb my limbs, and he had a lot of reach on me, so I gave ground.

  Gwen threw herself low and smashed the guy’s toes with her club. I was impressed with her sudden rush of courage. My opponent stumbled, and I brained him. He fell unconscious.

  Just like that, the enemy was broken. The last two had fled.

  Looking for Dalton, I found Dr. Chang had made good use of his position in the back. He laid down, hugging the large flat rock we’d been battling over, and grabbed hold of Dalton’s tunic. Using pain as a goad, Dalton had crawled hand over hand onto Chang’s back. He was now resting on the flat rock, panting. His left leg was bloody and stiff, and both his feet were smoldering.

  “We did it,” I said.

  Gwen shook her head. She pointed upslope.

  The fight was still going up there, but it was about over. The three man team was down to two members, one of whom looked half-dead.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s finish it.”

  We marched up there and faced the gr
oup at the top. When we got there, we were surprised to see another face we recognized.

  “Jones?” Samson said. “I don’t frigging believe it.”

  Commander Jones was up there, standing tall. He stared down at us like a true king. At his feet was an Asian guy who was pretty beat up, but was still moving.

  The number on the ceiling had begun counting again, but it was down to thirty-three this time.

  “Jones,” I said, “I don’t want to fight you. We outnumber you. Stand down.”

  “Negative, Blake,” he said. “I’m your superior officer in the Navy. You back off.”

  We stared at one another for a few seconds. Finally, Samson rushed up.

  “I’m not doing this shit again!” he roared.

  Jones cracked his club on the big man’s head and shoulders, shocking him, but Samson didn’t go down. Instead, Samson jammed his stick into Jones face, and the officer was knocked from his perch.

  Dalton and I swarmed up after Samson. We took the hill, and we let the others retreat. There was no need to hurt them further.

  The clock ran out to zero, and the room went green at last.

  We’d won the day… but how many more contests were there left to go?

  =12=

  We never saw what happened to the losing teams. They simply weren’t there anymore after we were herded back into our group cell and allowed out again later. Our team, however, was permitted by our captors to stay together.

  “None of this makes any sense,” I told the others. “Why make us kill one another? If what they want is an army, why not simply shanghai all the decent candidates? Forcing us to eliminate each other just makes us hate our masters, and it seems so wasteful.”

  “Maybe they only want the best of us,” Dr. Chang said. “I’ve been thinking about these contests—when my mind is fully my own, that is.”

  By now, we’d all realized that we were having episodes of paranoia. Sometimes these moments had clear causes, such as when someone was charging us and yelling. At other times, we were inexplicably overwhelmed by emotion, becoming the one initiating an assault.

  I seemed to be the only member of my group that was able to contain these urges. Only rarely did I lose control. I didn’t know why this was the case, it just was. Maybe it had something to do with my military training. Whatever the reason, I’d ended up becoming the team leader.

  “I believe these aliens,” Dr. Chang continued thoughtfully, “whoever they are, must want only vicious warriors to serve them.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “I guess that fits. Do you think that’s out of some kind of surreal sense of honor?”

  “Either that, or there’s a need for the most savage individuals, and no one else.”

  I didn’t like the answer either way.

  When the next chamber was revealed to us, we were all on edge. We were all hungry and dirty by now. Dalton’s leg was in bad shape. Fortunately, we were allowed another respite.

  The room had that same rock with the five slots. We approached it together and used our tubes without being told. When the rock stopped glowing, we withdrew them.

  When we pulled the tubes back out, we found fresh rolled-up bundles of clothing and squeeze-tubes of what looked like water.

  Dalton drank some of the fluid immediately and poured the rest on his damaged legs and feet. He hissed with pleasure.

  “What’s it taste like?” Samson asked.

  “Rat piss,” he replied with closed eyes. “But it’s fixing my legs.”

  The rest of us applied the fluid to our injuries and drank some of it as well. It was salty and oily at the same time. Body-warm, it was unpleasant, but we drank it anyway. My head soon cleared as did everyone else’s.

  Gwen tried on her new clothing right away. She put it on over her ragged, torn-up tunic and only ripped off the old garment after she was covered by the new one. The rest of the team watched in mild disappointment.

  Samson was remarkably less shy. He tore off his old clothing first and then pulled on the new suit. It looked a thousand times better.

  The clothes were a darker blue than our tunics had been. The fabric was also much more substantial. There were epaulets with a single round button of metal on each shoulder.

  “These look like uniforms… sort of,” Samson said.

  “Well, aren’t you catching up nicely,” Dalton sneered. “Didn’t the doc just say we’re soldiers in a slave army?”

  “I’m pushing you into the next pit I see, you greasy, burned-up little slime-bag,” Samson promised him.

  Dalton shut up and glared at us while he cautiously kneaded at his newly healing legs.

  Dr. Chang and I went next, dressing with curiosity. The cloth was thicker, tougher. It also covered more. The garment seemed to stretch and contract as I put it on, almost as if it was adjusting itself to my physique.

  Once I had it on, the new uniform just felt good to wear. In spite of the boys’ renewed sniping at each other, I hoped proper clothes would change their mood. Successfully working through the last trial together made it seem like we were coming into our own—ready for business.

  “Hey!” Dalton complained. “Look at Blake, here. He’s got a gold button on each shoulder. The rest of us have only silver buttons. Who put you in charge, Blake?”

  I turned to face him, and we squared off. At that point, a large figure approached our group. It was Shaw.

  “Where did you come from?” Dr. Chang asked.

  “I have the keys to this place,” he explained, “and an officer’s rank. You see my shoulders?”

  We looked at him. He was wearing a blue uniform, the same as ours, but there were gold triangles on his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed that the first time Shaw had come around—but then I’d been lying stunned on the floor at that point.

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting out of this,” I said to Shaw. “Why cooperate with these aliens?”

  Shaw gave me a tight smile. He was a big man, about the same dimensions as Samson. I got the feeling that he could fight like Samson, too, even though he was older. His hair was gray at the temples, and there were deep lines in his face, but his eyes were the merciless color of steel.

  “You’re not merely cooperating,” he said. “You’ve been given an honor. Earth has been invited to participate in the greatest event in a thousand years.”

  “What event?” Dr. Chang asked.

  Shaw kept looking at me, as if Chang didn’t exist.

  “Congratulations. You are now members of the Rebel Fleet. Leo Blake, this is your team to lead. You have full responsibility for their actions. If they make an error—that error will be assigned to you. Do you understand, crewman?”

  “In theory, yes,” I said. “But I don’t know the rules we must abide by, and none of us understand this Rebel Fleet you’re talking about. For one thing, who are you rebelling against?”

  “You’ll learn quickly enough. Any infractions will be met with harsh punishment. That is the way of the Fleet.”

  “Okay…” I repeated. “May I ask some questions?”

  “There is limited time and not much point to it, but I will allow it.”

  “How many more trials by combat will there be?”

  His grim smile returned. “In a way, that is up to you. Advancement within the Fleet is largely based on defeating other members. Not killing them, mind you, but defeating them in duels.”

  “Duels? Fair, organized fights?”

  “No…” Shaw replied thoughtfully. “Not always fair—rarely organized.”

  “Great,” Dr. Chang said, “sounds like we’re to be living on edge.”

  Shaw’s cheek jumped. Without looking, his hand shot out to grab Dr. Chang around the throat. He began crushing that neck.

  I could see the doctor’s eyes bulge. He tried to get his club out, but he dropped it.

  Samson growled and grappled with Shaw, trying to pull his fingers from Chang’s throat. There was little effect. Shaw kept staring at me, as if waiting
.

  Things were getting out of hand. Dalton moved around behind Shaw, lifting his club. Gwen did the same.

  “Hold!” I shouted at my crew. “Sir,” I said, addressing Shaw. “I apologize for Dr. Chang’s behavior. I’ll punish him myself.”

  Shaw’s face relaxed, and he nodded. He released Chang, who fell to the deck, coughing.

  “You have just learned about Fleet discipline,” Shaw said. “Commit every such lesson to memory.”

  Then he left us. We circled around Chang. If there was one man we all liked, it was the doctor.

  He didn’t get up. He looked at us with pleading, desperate eyes.

  “He can’t breathe,” Gwen said. “Shaw crushed his windpipe.”

  “I’ve never felt strength like that,” Samson said. “Shaw’s fingers were like iron.”

  Dr. Chang pointed at a soft spot at the top of his sternum. I knew what he wanted. “I need one of the squeeze bottles. Now!” I shouted.

  Gwen quickly handed me her drinking bottle. I ripped the straw out of it and knelt beside Chang.

  He was beginning to pass out. His eyes rolled up into his head. The man was turning blue, and I knew we didn’t have much time. He wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

  “We need something sharp,” I told them.

  I heard a ripping sound.

  “This?” Samson asked as he handed me his rank insignia. It had a sharp edge on the bottom where it attached to the uniform.

  I took it and stabbed Chang in the throat. He barely reacted to the pain. Stuffing the tube from the straw inside the bleeding hole, I heard air whistle as it passed through it.

  About a minute later Chang regained full consciousness, although his throat still looked oddly folded inward and was purple with bruising.

  “Did anyone else save their drink?” I asked the team.

  Dalton handed his over, grumbling. I took it and spread it around Chang’s throat. He was soon breathing more easily. Ten minutes later, he removed the tube himself, thanked us, and sat up.

  “I was a dead man,” he said. “Again... Thanks for your help.”