Crucible of a Species (39 page)

Martel started up the soft slope. The spears were long, clumsy and hard to hang onto when climbing. He had improvised by wrapped a thin vine tightly around the bundle. It helped but not much.

The lower slope was a straight climb without a packed trail. Sweat poured down his bare back, drawing flies and annoying bites he couldn’t swat. Eventually he rose above the tree canopy and the swarms of biting flies disappeared. The feeding song of the predators in the valley drew his attention to once again gaze across the woodland and rest a few moments. A sea of treetops formed an uneven surface of green where mists of butterflies and dragonflies danced across the billowy surface as if they too heard the song.

His legs, so mistreated in the past days, throbbed with pain. Cuts, gouges and scrapes on his hands bled but his spirits lifted for the top of the slope was close.

The cliff in front of him presented a mix of soft rock and hard-packed sand. It would be a dangerous climb for twenty yards or so before the strata transformed into a layer of hard stone. It was in that hard rock face that the deep crevasse lay providing, he hoped, a route extending up to the top of the mainland plateau.

Martel stretched, grabbing a smoothly rounded rock and carefully began transferring his weight over to it. The rock pulled out from the packed sand, narrowly missing his leg as it fell bouncing and rolling down to the jungle floor below.

There was a second, larger rock a little higher on the wall. Grabbing it, he pulled himself up while digging his toes into the hole left by the rock that had pulled out. Another rock above that looked good for the next handhold. He found that if he scraped the toe of his boot into the cliff then he could gouge out a toehold. It wasn’t much but it took some of the strain from his shoulders.

The bundle of spears dangled behind him, brushing against the cliff with every shift of his body, threatening to catch and fling him down from his unsteady perch. He tested each handhold, pushing and pulling on the rock before transferring his weight to it. The wider rocks with sharp edges sticking from the darker-colored sections of packed sand seemed to be the ones most likely able to take his weight.

The solid security of the hard, sharp rocks was a godsend to his abused body that had screamed in pain as he pulled himself up the sandy face. A few more yards and Martel was able to dig his hand into the bottom of the v-shaped crevasse. He could feel his body weakening, he needed to rest but the fissure at this height wasn’t wide enough to provide a solid grip.

Calling on his last reserves of energy, Martel pulled himself up along the rock-filled cleft until the opening was barely wide enough for him to wedge part of his body into it. Pain racked his body from the release of tension on his muscles even as the sharp, stone edges cut deeply into his side but he couldn’t stop here, his arms and legs would cramp. He had to climb just a little more, push on, higher up along the crevasse that widened with each careful step.

Another few yards and he could finally slide his whole frame into the crack. Martel set his bare back against one wall, keeping a foot under him while extending the other foot to push against the opposite wall. Finally wedged safely in place, the marine allowed cramped muscles to relax and a wave of relief washed over him.

The sergeant’s heart leapt into his throat when he looked up. A great rounded boulder floated in the air above his head. Logic told him it wasn’t going anywhere but seeing it suspended above him was unnerving. He examined the rock that seemed to float above him, too tired to move any further in spite of the threat.

A bright blue sky beyond the boulder deepened the dark shadows of the enclosure and heightened the illusion. The massive boulder contacted the walls of the fissure at three points so tiny his eyes could barely resolve them against the bright background. His goal lay just beyond this one final obstacle and he prayed his strength would hold out.

Climbing was easier now that he was able to crawl up the hard slope of the fissure. Martel was able to shimmy up the space between the two narrowly separated walls by following the bottom of the pie-shaped cleft penetrating deep into the cliff. As he neared the top, Martel’s shoulder brushed against the bottom of the boulder and a wave of fear washed across him. The rock didn’t budge but he wondered,
Just how tightly is this thing wedged in?

He couldn’t bring himself to climb up the outside of the smooth boulder. The alternative was to push through the narrow fissure between the boulder and the cliff-wall. It would be tight but he just might be able to squeeze through it.

Martel extended his hand into the dark shadows beneath the massive rock but hesitated as he recalled the grasshopper. The unknown, darkened passage brought out his fear of spiders but desperation and pure stubbornness forced his arm up and into the opening.

Spiders were nothing compared with the feeling that washed over him as he forced his head into the dark, narrow fissure. There was just enough clearance to push his bare shoulders through the opening. Should he chance pushing against the boulder for support?

Something brushed his neck and ran down his back. He forced himself to ignore it.

Martel pushed an arm into the dark space above his head, following the curve of the boulder. A quick prayer crossed his lips as he stretched around the top of the rock and pulled himself up, the rock didn’t budge as he emerged into the bright sunlight. Relief flooded in as he grabbed the top of the boulder and scurried up the its side.

Here, surrounded by the stone walls of the crevasse, he finally felt safe. The boulder was large enough to sit and rest on this hard perch. The walls of the cliffs on both sides rose above him, shielding both the marine and the rock securely wedged between heaven and the dangers far below.

Above his head, the top of the plateau was only a few feet away but his destination lay hidden by the walls of the fissure. The sergeant looked down the narrow slit with its view of the prehistoric valley. Despite its beauty, Martel decided that he had enough of that valley for a while.

He closed his eyes;
I really don’t want to see what the hell is up there just yet. I think I’ll just sit.

Perched on the boulder, Martel passed into the deep sleep of exhaustion as shadows around him shifted with the passage of the sun. Occasional flurries of pebbles and sand flew down from the edges but the marine never woke. He was so tired his body even ignored the dark shadows that flicked across the narrow fissure, briefly blotting out the hard rays of the sun.

*~~*~~*~~*

“Seems a bit antiquated.
I mean, using a chip card to access a door?” Sergeant Frank Marshall said to CPO Daniel Meecham. The chief slid a small card across the room’s access plate as he replied, “This, my friend, is a general passkey that opens almost every door on the Argos. Its very existence is ultra-hush-hush, we don’t like to discuss the fact that access to anybody’s quarters is so easy.”

Security systems specialist Tom Denon heard them enter as he sat at his desk in the living room. He got up and went to see what the noise was, “Sergeant, Chief? How did you get in here? What’s going on?”

“We’re here under orders of the captain, Tom. You’re to come with us. Don’t bother bringing anything.”

“A little unusual ain’t this Chief? Can’t you tell me anything?”

“Sorry Tom. Please just come along now.”

The two NCO’s escorted the specialist outside into the corridor with Tom walking between them before going to Specialist Sheila Leary and asking her to join the group. Stopping at three other rooms, they picked up three more specialists before moving onto the WebWay and up a level in the Argos.

The upper level of the ship contained the living quarters used by the scientists, technicians and engineers. The NCOs stopped by four more rooms, and four more individuals joined the group. The faces of those in the group were drawn and worried. By now, they recognized just who was being collected and they could guess the purpose.

Down, deep in crew’s quarters, Lieutenant Ester Esperanza stood before a door with a squad of marines at her back. One of the marines keyed the door and they charged into the room. Seaman Jon Bucker jumped up from his couch, his face already red in fury, “What the friggin hell do you mean by bustin’ into my quarters? I’ll have your bars for this Esperanza. Wait until I tell the XO …”

Two of the marines grabbed the sailor as he kicked, scratched and spit at them. Bucker kicked to his left but the marine was ready for it as the other marine touched the rating with a stunner, “Knew you’d be a prick about it, Bucker. I’ve been looking for an excuse to do this to you for a long time and you know what? I don’t give a shit if you do tell the XO.

“Stop drooling all over the damn floor, Bucker. Cuff him. Pick the bastard up and make sure the sloucher walks. We’ve got more business down the hall.”

The squad made three other stops before directing their prisoners over to the WebWay. Those taken followed in sullen order but they behaved, the alternative was a very painful rake across the victim’s nervous system from a synapses prod. Several of the group silently sneered at Jon Bucker as the squad shoved them down the corridor.

The prisoners entered an empty storage area and were told to sit on the deck. Commander Tom Dalmas, Executive Officer of the Argos, silently stood in one corner. Bucker started to call over to him then screamed as a marine zapped him again with the Snapses. The seaman let out a final squeal before collapsing to the deck. All murmuring in the room stopped as the prisoners next to Bucker pushed away from the pool of urine spreading across the deck.

The XO ignored the incident and nodded to Meecham before walking into a back room.

Chief Meecham moved over to Tom Denon, “All right now Mr. Denon, come along. The commander would like to speak with you.”

*~~*~~*~~*

With the exception
of the marine guard positioned at the berm and those still in the infirmary, the entire crew of the Argos quietly assembled in the shade of the wooded grove. The expedition had just buried their dead on the plateau after a solemn but brief ceremony. The death toll was now at ninety-seven, almost a quarter of the crew had been lost.

Seventeen crewmembers stood at the center of the assembly, hands cuffed behind their backs. To their side, Colonel Daniel Drake climbed aboard a huge fallen tree and addressed the ship’s company, “We’ve all suffered greatly from this attack. DNA polarized tracing confirms that Ship’s Services Technician Cyndi Stewart was responsible for this despicable act. Unfortunately, what she knew is gone for she lost her life while conducting the sabotage.

“Chief Petty Officer Meecham and his team discovered multiple instances of sabotage on this expedition. These crimes were committed with the intention of murdering all of us in a misguided effort to save the Earth from purely imagined consequences.”

A murmur went through the crowd of survivors still able to stand in the forest. One hundred and twelve others lay injured inside the Argos watching from their quarters or infirmary beds.

“The damage to our main drive was intentional; caused by a ship’s operations rating. Jon Bucker, stands before you now convicted of attempted murder as well as sabotage. There is sufficient evidence to include sixteen other close associates of Crewmember Sykes and Specialist Bucker. These people stand convicted by special military tribunal of belonging to a radical, terrorist branch of the Earth First society, conspiring to commit sabotage and the deaths of our mates.

“The prescribed penalty for such transgressions is life imprisonment or death. Unfortunately, we do not have the facilities or the personnel to incarcerate such a large number of convicts for an indefinite time.”

Dr. Nolen’s voice carried across the grove -- he spoke to the crowd as much as to the colonel, “You cannot justify killing these people, Colonel. Many of these people may have Earth First sympathies but that doesn’t mean that they are prone to extremism.

“With the exception of one man, you have not linked any of these survivors directly to the sabotage. What’s more, there was no direct loss of life even when the ship was damaged.”

“No thanks to Seaman Bucker,” Drake countered. “His actions directly focused on murdering everyone on board the Argos and we still have not identified the individual who is responsible for the damage originally inflicted upon the Argos during our Jupiter transit.

“We cannot afford to take the risk of keeping them in the camp until repairs are complete. On the other hand, I agree with you that some of these people may not be prone to violence. I have therefore decided not to seek execution of these people and that leaves us with only one option; banishment.”

A stunned protest rumbled went through the audience. Most of the prisoners met the colonel’s announcement with silence. Perhaps on an earlier day or at a time when the horrors just suffered were a long past memory the people would have found the suggestion less palatable.

Most of his shipmates disliked Jon Bucker. He had a coarse, nasty disposition that always supposed the worst of anyone he met. His crazed outbursts and violence prone Earth First beliefs surprised no one. However, most of those standing in handcuffs before the crew were not like Bucker. They were friends, hard-working shipmates. The colonel may be condemning both guilty and innocents but recent tragedies and horrors left all the survivors in stunned, painful acceptance.