Alien Manifesto (23 page)

Sitting up, Snarth glanced at his old
friend with a piercing stare. “You want to know what happened to my
home world, don’t you,” he said quietly as he hung his
head.

“
I know it is painful for
you, but it is just the two of us in as remote a place as you can
get,” whispered SSlice quietly, gently.

“
It was ssso long ago what
doesss it matter now?” hissed Snarth bitterly. “My home world wasss
dessstroyed during the war of conquest by the Onesss. Any
sssurvivorsss were ssscattered acrossss the galaxy.”

“
Destroyed by whom?”
whispered SSlice, unable to believe Snarth’s explanation. “I have
searched every data base I can find and I find no mention of your
home world, or its fate.”

“
You will not find any
reference to my people at all. We were accusssed of collaborating
with the leaderssship of the Onesss. It wasss untrue: we were
compelled to do what we did or risssk dessstruction of our home
world,” hissed Snarth. “The galactic alliance’sss fleet destroyed
our home world before the fall of the Onesss, before the truth
finally came out. But it wasss too late. In order to prevent
persssecution of what few of my people remained alive, all
information was removed from all the official databasssesss.
Thossse of usss who sssurvived ssspent a very long time tying up
any loossse endsss or even rumorsss of loossse endsss. In time my
people were forgotten,” hissed Snarth as bitterly as SSlice had
ever seen him.

“
Why haven’t you tried to
rebuild your civilization on a different planet?” asked SSlice,
refusing to let go of the answer he so desperately
sought.

“
It’sss quite sssimple
really,” answered Snarth. “When the home world wasss dessstroyed
all of the femalesss were killed. Only malesss ventured off-planet.
ssSuch a backward way to do thingsss in hindsssight, but it wasss
that way for generationsss, no one thought to change it or even
quessstion it.”

“
What about cloning
females? Surely genetic research has progressed enough by now to
allow that?” offered SSlice hopefully, yet knowing in his heart
what Snarth’s answer would be.

“
We tried that with sssome
sssuccessss. However all the clonesss were sssterile. It ssseemsss
that they require sssomething from the home world to become
fertile. While I and many othersss have sssearched in vain, the
sssecret remainsss on the home world which isss now a lifelesss
ball of radioactive fallout.”

SSlice’s gasp was audible: shocked, he
whispered, “They used nuclear weapons on your home world? But what
about the galaxy wide ban on nuclear weapons?”

“
We were at war and
losssing badly, the fleet usssed any meansss they had to try to
destroy the Onesss and any who helped them. In our ssstruggle to
sssave our home world from the fate of ssso many othersss we in
fact doomed ourselvesss to extinction,” hissed Snarth
sadly.

SSlice knew that any further
discussion of such a painful subject would be useless; besides, he
had learned what he wanted to. By the dim light given off by the
dying embers of the campfire both Snarth and SSlice lapsed once
more into silence. Much later Snarth’s deep breathing told SSlice
that his friend was finally asleep.

As he spun a snippet of web and
secured himself to the ceiling of the small cave SSlice reflected
on the pain his questions had caused Snarth, regretting his
insatiable curiosity. He knew he could not suppress it for that is
the nature of the spinners and why they are mistrusted by all but a
few species in the galaxy. As SSlice watched over the sleeping
Snarth, he resolved to find the answer of that most complex of
problems and perhaps at last bring a ray of hope to Snarth’s
people. After all, a life debt must be repaid.

The Irishman and Rowl, the canine
master, searched their quadrant diligently but without success. As
nightfall overtook them, they made camp for the night under a grove
of trees close to a small stream. In silence they set about setting
up camp, starting a small fire, not knowing just how closely their
routine mirrored the other members of the team’s nightly
preparations.

After dinner, they watched the flames
dance as each sipped some of the fine ale Snarth was both fond of
and free with. The pair had been friends long enough to know when
the other needed companionship without conversation.

As the Irishman listened to his
friend’s gentle snoring, his mind wandered back to the pleasure
bio-mech Tasha as it always did in times of quiet self-reflection.
The moment he first realized he was in love with Tasha was a moment
he would never forget. It was when Snarth told him he needed her
for Tom’s recruitment.

He did not realize how much he loved
her until the first time he saw her with Tom. At that moment, he
knew he would have to bury his feelings deep or risk all that
Snarth had done for him. Then Snarth had given Tasha to Tom as a
gift and the jealousy ate away at his heart.

Even Rowl did not know how much he
suffered in silence. Now Tom had the stealth master and a ray of
hope blossomed in the Irishman’s heart. Maybe Tom would sell Tasha
to him, then they would finally be together. The Irishman made a
mental note of his credits, it would be enough, he
hoped.

Tom’s voice sounded in the
Irishman’s ear in an eerie coincidence.
What does he want now
, thought the
Irishman grumpily;
I was almost
asleep.

“
Sorry to bother you so
late,” Tom started “but I need your help with a delicate personal
matter.”

“
If you need romantic
advice, I am not the one to ask," said the Irishman, cutting Tom
off.

“
No, I don’t need any love
advice, just let me explain…Please.”

“
I am listening,” said the
Irishman.

“
Good: you see, I am in
sort of a jam. It seems that the stealth master is insisting I get
rid of Tasha. She says she isn’t jealous, but I am not so sure.
Anyway, she insists I get rid of Tasha as soon as possible. And I
was wondering if you would take her off my hands as a token of my
friendship.”

The Irishman could hardly believe his
luck. “How much do you want for her?” he asked carefully, so as not
to betray his feelings, his heart in his throat.

“
Like I said it will be a
token of our friendship. Snarth gave her to me and I am giving her
to you. Please say yes; it will spare me a lot of grief and make my
life much easier if you do.”

Completely stunned, his mind racing
and heart singing, the Irishman answered as casually as he could.
“OK, I will take her off your hands - and thanks. Maybe someday I
can repay the favor.”

“
No need, my friend,” said
Tom. “As soon as we get back to the ship, she is yours, with only
one stipulation. You have to change her name right away. I don’t
care to what, there are too many Tashas in my life right
now.”

Unable to hold in his excitement, the
Irishman let loose a howl of happiness so loud that it would have
awoken the dead on another planet. This brought Rowl to his feet in
a combat stance with a fierce growl of warning to any nearby
enemy.

“
What the hell got into
you? Something bite you?” growled Rowl, disgruntled by his sudden
awakening. As he watched the Irishman doing handsprings around the
campsite, it dawned on him what must have happened.

“
She’s mine, she’s mine,
she’s all mine,” the Irishman kept shouting, confirming what Rowl
had suspected.

“
So, Tom gave Tasha to you,
good for him. This calls for a celebration,” said Rowl.

“
You bet it does,” shouted
the Irishman, panting from his antics.

Rowl reached into his pack and pulled
out a bottle. “My Sire is a famous spirit maker on my home world
and he considers the batch this bottle came from to be some of, if
not the finest, he has ever made. I have been saving it for a
special occasion and I think this certainly qualifies. To the happy
couple!” With that, Rowl pulled the cork, took a huge swig and
passed the bottle to the Irishman.

“
To good friends and the
future,” said the Irishman as he followed his friend’s
lead.

“
I thought you said your
dad was a famous spirit maker,” grimaced the Irishman after
catching the breath that the raw liquid had taken away.

“
I never said my people’s
taste in liquor was good, just that he was famous,” countered an
indignant Rowl. “I much prefer your Irish whiskey or even better
some real Kentucky bourbon. However this is all I brought, and
considering where we are, all we are likely to get until we get
back to the ship,” as he offered the bottle back to the Irishman,
after his second swig, which the Irishman accepted. The pair
proceeded to finish the bottle before finally falling asleep just
before dawn.

~

As the dawn broke through the failing
grip of the night, SSlice waited for Snarth to wake, hoping all the
while that his interpretation of the map’s symbols was accurate.
SSlice busied himself with his research of the Ones’ map, working
it repeatedly, backward and forward, wondering why the team had not
yet found the underground city, or the temple of the sun. Still,
even with the patience and diligence for which his people were
known to attack a secret, SSlice was at a dead end. It frustrated
him as no other question ever had. The riddle of Snarth’s past came
close but only close for he had solved that one at last.

Realizing that he would get no further
without access to the ship’s communication array and computers,
SSlice began to devise a search pattern for the few remaining
unsearched quadrants. According to his calculations, it would take
the team only one more daylight cycle to complete the scans of the
forbidden planet. Then, he would have proved either his theories
were correct, or he would have to start all over again, a task he
did not relish.

Just as SSlice was going to wake
Snarth in a very unusual display of impatience, Snarth yawned,
stretched and roused himself from his short sleep.

“
I have recalculated the
search grid and it should be complete by nightfall,” SSlice
began.

“
That’s fassscinating but
it will have to wait until I have my morning cup of wakeup,” hissed
Snarth, grumbling and not yet fully awake.

“
I have never understood
the need for so much sleep,” retorted a rebuffed SSlice.

“
I can only imagine all the
thingsss I could get done if I only required an hour or two of
sssleep a night,” hissed Snarth as he poured his cup of
wakeup.

SSlice waited in silence for his
friend to finish what he regarded as an unnecessary morning ritual.
Spinners routinely went three or four light cycles with no sleep,
so little did they require. Only needing an occasional hour or two
of sleep kept the spinners after the answers they so zealously
sought to so many questions about so many people, places and
things.

Finally, Snarth was ready. “Let’sss
sssee that grid pattern and get thisss hunt underway ssshall we.
While I review thisss, contact the other team membersss and have
them meet usss here as sssoon azsss possssible,” Snarth
ordered.

Tom woke to two very different noises,
the shrill beep of the com-link and the purring of Tasha, the
stealth master, whom he was snuggled up against in the sleeping
furs. Slowly, the fuzzy edges of reality came into focus and he
reached for the com-link, disturbing Tasha in the process, despite
his best efforts not to.

It was SSlice relaying Snarth’s
orders. After relieving himself, Tom began to pack up the campsite
while waiting for Tasha to return from her morning bath in the
nearby stream. As she returned with the sun to her back Tom paused,
admiring the exotic beauty of Tasha’s eyes, face and, yes, even her
whiskers. He was instantly, painfully, aroused by the smell of her
musk and the play of her muscles as she glided back into last
night’s love nest of a campsite.

With a smile, Tasha purred “No time
for that now,” stroking Tom’s cheek, “but I demand a rematch
later,” lightly using her claws on Toms still bare chest, making
the throbbing even worse.

The Irishman also woke to
two sounds, the com-link and Rowl’s loud snoring. As he reached for
the com-link, flashes of pain exploded in his head with each
movement. His stomach was on fire and the world was still slightly
wobbly.
Damn, Rowl’s daddy’s liquor sure
packed a mean punch,
grimaced the Irishman
as he roused Rowl.

“
Snarth wants us to join
him right away, so get up,” he slurred as he threw a twig at the
sleeping fight master, knowing better than to touch him. That would
be a very bad idea, having made that mistake once and with the
broken nose scar to prove it.
If I am this
hung over, I know he is going to be a real grouch,
thought the Irishman with a grimace as a flash of
hangover pain flashed before his eyes.

Slowly, Rowl exited his sleeping furs,
looking as haggard as the Irishman felt. “In my pack there are a
couple of sober ups. I don’t know about you but I sure need one,”
growled a very hung over Rowl. “Now I remember why I don’t drink
anything my dad makes very often.”