M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (23 page)

“What?” asked LCpl Samuels.

“Exo-stomach beings. They have their stomachs on the outside of their bodies, not inside as with you humans.”

“That's just wrong,” observed Reagan. 

One by one the creatures turned away, slithering off to parts unknown with the occasional wingtip or fishy jaw popping up out of their flowing bodies before being reabsorbed. In parting, the last exo-stomach creature farted a final message. 

“Do not trust the stink weasels.”

“I wonder what that last message means?” Sandy wondered aloud, as the creature slid away into the gloom. 

Trader's Compound

Bear and JT engaged the Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra, who called himself Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra, for more than an hour before the subject of antimatter came up. Without missing a beat, Ooshnar shifted from trying to sell the Earthlings excess molecular circuitry to discussing the rarity and availability of antimatter on the station. 

“Ah, you see antimatter is almost impossible to come by, used as it is to power the station and maintain habitable conditions. Though, for the right price I might be able to lay paws on some. How much were you interested in?”

Knowing that there were only limited amounts on the station, JT played it cool. “Oh, we are just trying to top off our tanks. We do that out of habit whenever we make port. Our Captain says it pays to plan ahead.”

“A wise being indeed, this Captain of yours. And what would you be willing to trade for, say, a type 3 container full?”

“A type 3? Hardly worth our while. We are looking for a type 1 at least, perhaps several.”

“That much antimatter would cost quite a fortune, gentle beings, and you have yet to indicate what you might be willing to trade for such goods.”

“We were thinking that we might offer payment in the form of services.”

Seeing the quizzical look on the trader's face—Kieshnar-rak-kat-tra have very expressive faces—Bear explained. “We noticed while walking about the station that you have a big pest problem.” 

“Yes...” Ooshnar agreed cautiously.

“We could clear out the flying vermin and those overly affectionate plants you have up toward the collection disk, for example.”

“An intriguing proposition, but that would be a benefit to more than myself and my clan, and a modest one at that. I'll tell you what, let me talk to my great uncle, who is the head trader on the station, and see if he has need of such services in exchange for some antimatter.”

“OK, fine,” Bear favored the trader with a toothy smile. “We'll wait.”

* * * * *

Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra, who was in fact the Trader's grandnephew, scurried into the warren of containers and boxes and hurried to the bower of Keneesh-ka-ka-kar. On the way he conferred with one of the junior traders who had been spying on the Earthlings.

“While you have been talking with the aliens the larger party that remained at the foot of the boarding tube came under assault by the flying vermin,” the young scavenger told his senior.

“Oh? And how did they fair against the accursed winged pests?”

“This time they did not hesitate—when two of the fliers attempted to pelt them with dung they were immediately shot down by the strangers. Two of the large ones fired once apiece and the winged vermin fell to the deck dead.”

“How did the rest of the flock respond to that?”

“They swarmed the aliens, as you would expect from their kind. Trader Ooshnar, the party of aliens all fired at once and within seconds half the flock was dead on the deck and the rest fled for their lives!”

Ooshnar paused in his forward motion and looked at his underling intently. “You are saying they easily killed or scattered the whole flock?”

“Yes! These creatures are efficient, vicious killers. But there was one puzzling thing—they did not kill the exo-stomach beings that emerged after the slayings.”

“Really?”

“Yes, the smallest of the aliens, the one that seemed to be in charge, conversed with the stomach beasts and gave them the flier's carcases.”

Why would they do that
, Ooshnar pondered,
give away the bodies of things they had slain in return for nothing?
Keeping that puzzle in mind he resumed his journey to the Trader's dwelling, soon arriving at the beaded curtains covering its entryway. 

“State your business,” demanded Poonta-ta-ka, one of the Trader's minions. 

“None of yours,” was Ooshnar's curt reply. He pushed past the sycophantic Poonta-ta-ka and into the Trader's audience chamber. 

“Trader Keneesh-ka-ka-kar, I bring news and an offer of commerce involving the newly arrived aliens!”

“Is that my grandnephew Ooshnar-tar-rak-ra? Come forward and let us discuss this trade you speak of...”

Chapter 14

Polar Bear Quarters, Farside

A trio of female bears were sitting on a highpoint within the polar bear habitat admiring the new ceiling display. Human technicians had labored for days applying several coats of special paint to the walls and ceiling of the auditorium sized chamber. The base coat was highly reflective, turning the surface into a wall to wall movie screen. The second covered the reflective base coat with a transparent layer containing self-assembling OLED nano-particles. The final coat provided a protective outer covering. 

Stimulated by a fine conductive mesh formed as the paint dried, the entire surface was transformed into a gigantic full color display. Though any picture, including full motion video, could be displayed on the ceiling, its intended use was to provide a naturalistic sky appropriate to the polar bears' Arctic habitat. 

Just having a cold enclosure filled with ice was not enough to ease the bears' sense of confinement. It was hoped that having a natural looking sky overhead, synced to the seasons and rotation of Earth below, would help lower ursine stress levels. With the northern hemisphere headed into winter, the environment currently featured a setting Sun skirting low across the horizon. As the sky darkened stars became visible, all faithful to their natural positions, spectra and brightness.

“This is really beautiful,” said Aurora, “how nice of the humans to do this for us.”

“Yes, it is,” Snowflake replied. “I find most humans likeable enough, if you don't have to spend too much time with them.”

Isbjørn snorted. “After you get use to the pervasive smell, they are nice enough.” Of the bears present she had spent more time in close contact with humans than anyone.

Snowflake raised her head and looked intently in the direction of the main entrance. “Speaking of humans, it would appear that we have a visitor.”

Walking across the darkening white landscape, a solitary human made its way toward the group of she-bears. Dressed for arctic temperatures—the habitat was currently hovering around -20°C—the human was cloaked in a white, down-filled parka with a fur fringed hood concealing its face. On its feet were white mukluks, soft soled boots similar to the foot wear of humans indigenous to the Arctic. 

A gust of wind—the product of another attempt to make the polar bears' environment as realistic as possible—carried the human's scent to the bears. While polar bears did not fear any creature that walked on land, several millennia of bear-human interaction had linked human scent with a feeling of unease. 

“Ludmilla,” Isbjørn and Aurora pronounced together, with Snowflake nodding in agreement. As Ludmilla drew closer her identity was verified visually, not that the bears had any reason to doubt the certainty of their olfactory identification. 

Being the senior bear present, Isbjørn called out. “Hello, Ludmilla. What brings you to our abode today?” 

“Hello ladies,” Ludmilla replied, pausing at the foot of the small rise on which the bears rested. Throwing back her parka hood, the Russian doctor looked up at the sky overhead. Returning her gaze to the bears she replied. “I wanted to see if the redecorating of your quarters had a worthwhile effect. It certainly seems an improvement to me.” 

“We were just admiring the view ourselves,” Aurora responded, answering the implied question. “Having a sky overhead that varies with the time and seasons really adds to the natural feeling.” 

“It does make me homesick though, knowing you can't just head out over that next ridge to see what's there,” Snowflake added dolefully. “Being crowded in here with so many bears makes it impossible to find any privacy. For example, where is Isbjørn going to find a place to den?” 

Isbjørn looked sharply at Snowflake while Aurora, who was next to her, surreptitiously cuffed the younger she-bear. 

Snowflake flinched, whining “what?” Then she realized the implication of her statement. None of this escaped the sharp eyes or ears of Ludmilla, standing before them with her mittened hands on her hips. 

“Yes, Isbjørn. I have been meaning to talk with you about your condition. This is why I invited you to have a physical twice in the last month. Yet for some reason you have not found the time.”

“I'm sorry, Ludmilla. I'm fine really, why would I need a physical?”

“Because you are pregnant.”

All three bears stared at Ludmilla. Isbjørn blinked her eyes.

“Why do you think I'm pregnant?”

“Because I am your doctor. Do you think I cannot tell when one of my patients is pregnant?” Ludmilla crossed her arms, giving Isbjørn a stern doctor look. “Even when she avoids coming in for an examination.”

“Maybe she can smell the change like we can?” whispered Snowflake.

“Hush!” Aurora whispered back. 

“The medical department monitors everyone's health on the station, bear and human alike. You have been gaining weight rapidly and your hormonal balance has changed. I would not be much of a doctor if I did not notice, Da?” 

“I'm sorry, but we are secretive about having cubs by instinct. Dumb bear males will kill cubs given half a chance so we hide.”

“And what were you going to do? Go hide in a corner for four months and hope no one noticed your absence?”

Isbjørn hung her head and looked at the snow on the floor. The other two she-bears looked at each other sheepishly.

“You're right, Ludmilla, there really is no good place to make a den around here and I don't know what to do.” For Isbjørn, one of the most self-reliant of the bears, this was a painful confession. 

“I will tell you what to do, Isbjørn. You tell your doctor and she makes arrangements,” Ludmilla said with some satisfaction.

“Really?”

“Really. If I can have sky added to your habitat, do you think I cannot have a nice dark alcove built where you, and the other two bears that are pregnant, can build dens?” 

“An alcove?” said Isbjørn.

“What other bears?” asked Snowflake.

“Snowflake, hush!” whispered Aurora.

“Right,” Ludmilla replied. “And I expect to see you in the medical section tomorrow morning at 0900, sharp.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Ludmilla turned and headed toward the door, pulling her parka hood up as she walked away. For a few moments she allowed herself a satisfied smile. The bears watched her go in silence, all three wondering how a 55kg human female could intimidate three 300kg polar bears without so much as raising her voice. 

Housing Block #14, Farside Base

A ragtag group of rescuees had gathered in the apartment assigned to three of their number. Almost all were young, in their late teens or early twenties, and all without technical skills. Several had attended college, including the two young women present, though none had managed to complete a course of study. When in attendance, their majors tended to change frequently, bouncing among philosophy, political science, community organizing, ethnic and gender studies, and other similar topics. In the world they came from they were practically unemployable, on the Moon base they were overhead.

Because they lacked any useful technical skills they had all been placed in menial and unchallenging jobs. Most of the men were maintenance workers, effectively janitorial staff, one man and one of the women worked as food servers in the mid-level cafeteria, and the other woman worked at a daycare. In exchange for their labors they received apartments, cafeteria passes and a small stipend of credits as spending money. In other words, if Farside had a welfare class they were part of it.

The meeting had been organized by one of the men who called himself “Todor,” after an obscure Bulgarian anarcho-communist who died fighting the Nazis in Belgium during World War II. Older than the others, his greatest accomplishment in life had been flunking out of three major universities. Seeing that the expected group had gathered, Todor stood up and addressed those assembled.

“Comrades, thank you for coming.” He paused to let his audience to settle down. “As you know, many of the brothers and sisters present in this room were part of the 99 percent's struggle for freedom and equality back on Earth—before the elites managed to ruin the planet.”

The last statement caused some murmuring in the room. One of the younger men said, “I thought aliens destroyed the Earth?”

“Elitist misinformation,” Todor snapped. “Why would aliens attack our planet? Have you seen an alien? No, the elites, the 1%, became frightened of the people and tried to destroy them so they could have the world all for themselves.”

“How do you know that, Todor?” asked the woman known as Jennie.

“Have you noticed who is in charge here? A council of billionaires backed by the military, that's who.”

“The head person is that Russian woman, the ex-Cosmonaut.”

“She is just a puppet. A shill for the rich financiers who had this place constructed as a refuge prior to blowing up the world. How would they have known to build such a place if they weren't responsible for killing off the proletariat?”

“OK, assuming they did what you said,” said a younger man named Tim, “Why did they bring us here then? They did rescue us from the surface.”

“You can't be a king without some peasants to lord over. We are surfs, here to serve the new nobility.” Todor took a breath and launched into a rant. “Who lives in the fancy houses on the top levels? The rich bankers from the council, and the officers that command the military, that's who.