Condition Zero, page 4
part #6 of The Earth Saga Series
Looking around the uninspiring bachelor's officer quarters he had been given not far from the 1st Infantry Division headquarters, he felt doubt on a level he had never felt before. He knew that Colonel Hunt was going to try his best to free the planet, but in the back of his mind, he suspected that it would come at a horrible cost. In lives and in irrevocable damage to the Earth.
“What is the plan?” John Robert asked out loud to an empty room.
The head of Tohil Industries was in the living quarters next to Doctor Beck’s, but he was without the libation in his hand. Instead, it was a cigarette, one of many he had smoked so far that day. He had stripped down to a pair of boxers while the clothes he had travelled to Kansas in were laundered.
Once he had arrived at Fort Riley, almost everything had been handed over to the military and taken out of his hands. His puppet, Doctor Stephenson, might have had the most significant understanding of alien technology of any human, but Star Guard Hulo and his men were now not only involved in the planned attack on the Barrier Generator nearby but also the real experts on the tech.
There must be a way to work his way back to the top of the pyramid which he was presently sliding down. It was an answer that so far eluded him. He took another drag on his cigarette. A knock came on the door. It was his laundry. He quickly dressed and headed out into the night. He needed to clear his head.
16-Northern Pacific
Sector Prefect Dinalis was sitting across from Lord Sutori, watching his colleague devour his meal. Their dinner had been a fish caught from the ocean that surrounded the submerged Planetary Command Ship.
Soturi had been in a foul mood for days, and Dinalis shared his concerns about what was happening on the surface. The Coalition threat was still ever present, and they were still waiting to participate in the mission to reclaim the planet in the name of the Alliance.
Cut-off from the outside world, they plotted what steps to take individually once they rose from the cold ocean depths. Dinalis was focused on putting the world back on the track to membership in the Alliance, Soturi was focused on bringing those that had caused the war to last so long to justice.
“Hungry?” Dinalis finally asked.
Soturi looked up from his plate and shook his head as he continued to chew. “I grow weary of this waiting.”
Dinalis nodded in acknowledgement.
“I sense we won’t have to wait much longer.” The powerful Jin-Mona said dryly.
“Are you certain?”
“Ninety-eight percent.” Soturi replied.
“Then we must get ready.”
10 May
17-Fris
The air was fresh, and a light breeze was continually blowing across the landing strip. Not far from where the ten humans were standing was a large building with peaked roofs over each section, and entirely brown in colour. In the distance beyond the structure were hills covered in green vegetation.
Steven was at the end of the file they were standing in; he could see fields that reminded him of rice paddies he had seen in Japan surrounding the immediate area.
Before the ten humans had been loaded into the shuttle, they had all been given injections in the neck, presumably to breath, then brought down to the surface, pulled out of the cage, moved to where they currently stood, then fed and watered. The liquid they were given was brown and tasted like it had come from a lake. The food was mainly leafy, with some chunks of something. Steven wasn’t sure.
After they had been fed, a large, cumbersome robot had come to the group and scanned everyone head to toe, then departed, leaving everyone in silence with four menacing droids standing over them. Any time someone would try and speak, the droids would use staffs they were carrying and hit the offender.
Steven wasn’t sure how much time passed since they had landed on the surface. All electronics, watches, jewellery, everything, was taken from them once they had landed, and he had no idea how long day-time lasted wherever they were.
Being careful to move only a much as needed, Steven looked down the line five places to see Nikki, standing with her arms crossed, an angry expression on her face. Looking back to his front, Steven glanced at the large brown building again and watched as a pair of droids exited the structure, walking towards the humans, and without breaking stride, marched right up to Steven and pulled him towards the building.
“Steve!”
He could hear Nikki shouting after him, but he couldn’t see her. All he could hear was her screaming from the shock of the droid’s staffs.
Putting his head down, he fought back the tears. Part of him suspected that this was the end. He was going to be taken inside and killed. He would never say goodbye to Nikki, and he’d never see Perth again.
When he crossed the threshold of the doorway, his captors took a sharp right, then stopped outside a door. A minute passed and out walked the first living creature he had seen since his capture. An alien with blue skin, long hair, and wearing a simple white jumpsuit. Once the shock of seeing an alien up close had passed, Steven directed his attention forwards and saw a tall, muscular alien standing behind a desk. The creature uttered some words, to which the droids responded by dragging Steven into the room, then setting him on a stool in front of the desk.
Without another word, the droids departed and closed the doors behind them. Steven watched the figure that was standing before him. It was evident that the character was sizing him up, paying particular attention to his neck. After a few moments of thought, the creature went to a drawer and pulled out a horseshoe-shaped device and handed it to Steven.
Steven took the contraption. It was grey with a series of lights and what looked like microphone spots on it. It was lightweight and had the slightest warmth to it. After giving it his military grade inspection, Steven looked up at the alien, who had sat down behind the desk. In one motion, the figure pointed at his neck.
Steven didn’t need to be told twice. Taking a deep breath, he brought the device up and put it around his neck.
He could instantly feel the warm, almost soothing heat on his neck. The heat was followed by a tingling sensation as the contraption moved around his neck to just the right position, with the opening at the rear. This was followed by a sharp pain at the base of his skull. A jab so painful that he attempted to move his arms to react to the assault, but he was powerless. His arms wouldn’t budge. He was stationary on the stool. Only his eyes moved, and they were locked on the figure behind the desk, a look on his face as if he were examining Steven’s reaction, seeing how he’d respond to whatever was happening to him, and then he heard him speak. Not in some garbled noise that he was expecting from the mouth of an alien, but in English.
“Relax.” The creature said.
Relax like fuck I will. It was just a thought; Steven didn’t say a word. And then the pain was gone, and his arms were freed.
“Fuck!” He blurted that out, and quickly brought his hands around to the rear of the collar, and quickly discovered a cable running from the end of the collar into the back of his skull. He hadn’t felt anything after the first stabbing pain, but if he could understand the alien sat across from him, then something was fucking with his mind.
“Can you understand me?” The alien asked.
Steven took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, then nodded.
The alien repeated himself. “Can you understand me?”
“Yes.” Steven replied. He needed to remember that gestures he might understand might not translate well on a different God damned planet. “What is this place?”
The alien sat back in his chair. “This is the world Fris. And this,” he raised his hands. “And all the lands you see is owned by Omista Basurvya.”
Steven just shook his head. “Are you Basurvya?”
The alien laughed. “No!” He continued to chuckle to himself. “I am a slave like you are now.”
Steven pursed his lips and nodded. “That what this place is? A slave farm?”
“Correct. I am Orja Anamei.” The alien paused and looked at a data-sheet. “What do you call yourself?”
“Steven Edwards.”
“Then you are now Orja Steven Edwards.”
“Orja?”
“It means slave in Fris.”
Steven nodded.
“Here you will find that Omista Basurvya is patient and lenient as a slave owner.”
Steven shook his head. A good slave owner? Sounded like an oxymoron. Then it dawned on him.
“How are we talking?”
“The device around your neck connects to the vocal centres of your mind. The words I say are translated by the device, and you hear what I say in your tongue. What you say is passed through the device, then translated into Universal, for me to understand.”
Steven leaned back on the stool and looked around the room. It was impressive in size, if not a little barren. After thinking of his next question, his eyes returned to Anamei.
“So how does it all work here?”
“We slaves pick berries from the fields. They are taken off-world and sold as a delicacy.” Anamei replied.
“It’s not automated?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The berries are too delicate, and they have been picked by living hands increases their value.”
“And who else is here?”
“On this farm, there are three groups. Slaves, like you and I. Droids, to keep us in line, and then Omista Basurvya and his family. They live on the top levels of this building.”
“So, what happens now?”
Anamei rose to his feet. “For now, only you will have a collar. We will go back to your friends, and you will inform them of their situation.”
Steven stepped off the stool.
“If they behave, and do as they are told, then they will live in comfort. If they break the rules, there will be punishment.”
“What kind of punishment?” Steven asked. He wanted to know the worst of it sooner than later.
“Death.” Anamei replied. “Or torture. The Omista is equally harsh as he is kind.” The doors opened, and Steven followed the alien out of the room. The droids that had taken him into the building were nowhere in sight. “Can you escape from here? Has anyone tried?”
Anamei looked at Steven. “Escape to where?” When they walked back outside, Anamei waved his arms towards the surrounding landscape. “Beyond the farm is nothing but more farmland. If you fled from this land, you would just stumble into another farm, be captured, then returned.”
“What about stealing a ship to get off world?” Steven pressed.
“Can you fly a space ship?” Anamei shook his head. “Ships come and go from here to bring in more slaves, to take out the berries we harvest, for supply runs and for the Basurvya family to come and go. There are no permanent ships here.”
Steven let out a sigh as he walked towards the landing pad where Nikki and the eight other humans were standing.
“You must understand, unless you are sold to another farm, there is no way out for you and your friends. You best behave, and then you will have some freedoms and simple pleasures.”
Steven shook his head lightly, then looked at Nikki. He could tell she was scared. Everyone that had been dumped on this planet looked frightened. He was afraid. There was no way in fuck he was going to die here. He shot a glance up to the sky. This wasn’t his sky, this wasn’t his world. Steven Edwards wasn’t going to die on it. The army had taught him many things, one of them was to never give up, never surrender. This was one such time where he’d have to be smart. He’d have to take his time.
When they reached the group, Anamei stopped. “Tell them what I tell you.”
Steven nodded. He looked over the nine faces staring back at him. Time for the bad news.
18-Hvolsvöllur, Iceland
Ever since the news of aliens had reached Iceland, almost one year ago, the few inhabitants of Hvolsvöllur had held weekly meetings. The trepidation of the locals moved in waves. At first, it was fear. It was followed by awe. But ever since the new aliens had arrived, the evil ones, things had taken a sharp turn. When the planet had been EMP’d, and turned off, many suspected it was the beginning of the end, and that they would all eventually suffer the same fate as the distant cities that had been vaporised from space.
But now, eight days after Anna Jonsdottir’s husband had gone to Reykjavik, she was starting to fear that the horrors weren’t going to come from space, but at the hands of her own people.
“My husband and brother both went into Reykjavik.” Katrina said, slowly sipping her tea. “My brother returned upon the same horse he had departed.” She shook her head. “He said that the capital region is in chaos. Food is running out. The government has lost control. The town is now being run by the head of the police. He has all the guns!”
“And what of your husband?” Anna asked.
“My brother does not know. They were supposed to meet at Hallgrimskirkja after splitting up, but my husband never arrived.” Katrina replied.
“Why didn’t your brother search for him?” Anna pressed.
“By that time, it was no longer safe to be on the streets. He said that the locals wanted his horse, and he had no choice but to ride back here.”
Anna usually kept quiet for most of the gatherings. Her mind was focused on her young son, not the husband that had probably met the same fate in the capital as Katrina’s. She didn’t have any family left locally, only her husband’s parents and sister, but they lived in Raufarhöfn, on almost the opposite side the island, and there was no way that she was going to chance riding there with her son. At least on her farm, she had food and enough water to last until winter when the snows would bring more drinkable water. Hunkering down was all she could think to do.
“We should leave Iceland.” It was old man, Broddi. Eighty-five, grey-haired, and nearly blind.
The remark didn’t draw an instant rebuke, but silence. Anna was racking her brain, the idea sounded too farfetched to believe.
“And go where?” Katrina asked.
“The Faroe Islands.” Broddi replied. “I have a brother there, and we have been communicating on the radio.”
“And how does that help us?”
“He has offered to sail up to Jokularlon in four days and take off myself, and anyone with me.”
“And how do we get ourselves to Jokularlon?”
“We ride.” Broddi replied.
“How far is it?”
“About two-hundred-seventy-five kilometres.”
“How long would that take to ride?”
“Two to three days.” Broddi replied. “On a horse. I have a few quad bikes. Get there much faster.”
“And the boat arrives in four days?”
“That is what my brother is proposing.”
The room went silent again.
Anna was running over the numbers in her head. She had more than enough horses to ride with Thor. The distance was manageable. They had enough food and water to make the journey. But what if the boat failed to arrive? What if once she departed, her husband returned?
“Do we take a vote?” Katrina asked.
“No.” The old man responded. “The boat is coming in four days, I am leaving. If you wish, you may join me.” The old man rose to his feet. “The boat, I am told, is large enough for every one man, woman and child in Hvolsvöllur. Other than that, baggage should only be things of value. Rifles, tools, things of this nature.” He pushed in his chair. “Let us meet again late tomorrow and take count of our numbers.”
No one spoke as the old man made his way out of the room, then out of the single-story house. Once the front door had slammed shut behind him, the voices rose back up. Anna listened. The room seemed evenly divided. Many had doubts that the boat was real, or if things were any better in the Faroe Islands.
Thirty minutes later, Anna was at home with Thor. Her mind was fraught with choices. There were so many variables to consider. She poured herself a beer, and sat on the living room couch, only stirring when the sun woke her in the morning.
19-Maputo
The weather was a gorgeous twenty degrees, the perfect weather for Shakil to walk about town in his official capacity for the hotel. There were a few spices that the hotel’s chef wanted from the Central Market on Avenue 25 de Setembro, and the walk there took him just under forty-five minutes.
With the sun shining down, and a light breeze in the air, Shakil ambled along the now quiet streets of Maputo without fear. There might have been chaos elsewhere, but ever since the city had fallen until the control of the army, it was considered safer. Every other street corner had a pair of policemen or soldiers on it.
Unfortunately, things were not as serene when he reached the Market. The place should have had over one hundred stalls selling everything from fresh produce from the sea, to hair products from China, to bags and other trinkets for the tourists who used to clog up the aisles of the Market which had been built around 1900.
Today, Shakil was in search of the necessary ingredients for a peri-peri prawn dish that the head chef was renowned for, but when he cast his eyes upon the Market, he knew that he had wasted his time. The market was deserted.
A local police officer approached him at the entrance, and Shakil could tell right away the man was corrupt, like most of the cops in Maputo.
“What are you doing here, boy?”
The man was swinging his baton around, giving Shakil the impression that he probably liked to use it little too much.
Shakil was dressed in a well-pressed white shirt, black shorts, and black leather shoes. He certainly thought he had a professional appearance. He even had his hotel name-tag on, and he thought everyone knew that the Polana was the headquarters for the army.
“I’m here for some groceries, Sir.” Shakil bowed his head slightly.
