Chimerascope

Scream Angel-4

“And this?” Weitz took in the circus with a wave of a hand.

“After we lost the base, we had to keep moving. As a cover story to clear immigration on each world, I concocted a circus of aliens. Then I ran out of money, had to do it for real.”

“What if someone had recognized you? Or knew about Angels?”

Trelayne struggled to speak. “We avoided anywhere with an Entity presence, stayed off the main jump routes.” He started to shiver. “Why do you want Angels if you have a*****e of Scream?”

“My supply’ll run out, and I can’t count on stealing more.”

Trelayne stared at Weitz. “So what’s the deal?”

Weitz smiled. “Why do you think I won’t just take them?”

“Against a crew of ex-Rippers pumped on Scream?”

Weitz’s smile faded. He studied Trelayne. “Okay. Let’s assess your position. One: I gave your ship’s beacon signature to Long Shot’s space defence. If you run, you’ll be caught.”

Trelayne said nothing.

“Two: if you’re caught, your ip pals get sent back to their home worlds. And you know what that means.”

Trelayne stayed silent, but his skin went cold.

“Three: you, Mojo, and the medic get executed for treason.”

“Like I said, what’s the deal?”

Weitz studied Trelayne again, then finally spoke. “Both Angels for my store of Scream—a lifetime supply for you and your men. I lift the order on your ship and turn my back as you and your band jump. Your life goes on, with Scream but no Angels.”

Life goes on, if you called this life. That much Scream was worth a fortune. But nowhere near the value of a breeding pair.

So there it was. Betray his love or die. What choice did he have? Refuse, and Weitz would turn them over to the Entity, and all would die. Run, and be killed or caught by the planetary fleet. Give her up, along with Procne, and at least the others would be free. Besides, she had turned from him, taken one of her own. She had only used him to escape, had always used him. She was an alien and hated him for what he had done to her race.

She had never really loved him.

All that stood against this were the remnants of his love for her, and a phantom memory of the man he once had been.

~~~

Outside, Feran waited for the Captain’s reply to Weasel Man. He didn’t know what the Captain would do but he knew it would be brave and noble. Feran listened for the sound of the Captain leaping to his feet and striking Weasel Man to the floor. But when a sound came, it was only the Captain’s voice, small and hoarse. “All right,” was all he said.

“You’ll do it?” That was Weasel Man. Feran did not hear a reply. “Tomorrow morning.” Weasel Man again. The door opened, and Feran scooted under the pod. Weasel Man stepped out smiling. Feran had seen sand babies smile like that on Fandor just before they spit their venom in your eyes.

As he watched the man walk away, fading into the darkness, something inside Feran faded away as well. He stood staring into the shadows for a long time, then turned and entered the pod. The Captain lay in his sleeping place. He seemed not to notice Feran. The kit put the pouch from the Bird Queen on the table, then left without a word. The Captain did not call after him.

How long Feran wandered the grounds, he did not know. Some time later, he found the Cutter and Mojo sitting in front of a fire burning on an old heat shield panel from the ship.

“Seen the Captain, Feran?” asked Mojo. Feran just nodded.

“He’s had his bottle? All tucked in for the night?” the Cutter asked. Feran nodded again as Mojo scowled at the Cutter.

They sat silently for a while. “Does it hurt when you lose someone you love?” Feran asked, ashamed of the fear in his voice, the fear that he felt for Philomela.

The Cutter spoke. “Hurts even more to lose ’em slowly. Watch ’em disappear bit by bit ’til nothing’s left you remember.”

Feran knew the Cutter meant the Captain. “Shut up, Cutter,” Mojo growled. “You’ve never been there. Only a Screamer knows what he lives with.” He patted Feran’s head. “Never mind, kid.”

The Cutter shook his head but spoke no more. Feran rose and walked slowly away to once again wander the Circus grounds. This time, however, something resolved itself inside his young mind so that when he found himself outside the sleep pod of the Angels he interpreted this as a sign that his plan was pure.

The Bird Queen was alone. She spoke little as he told his tale, a question here or there when the words he chose were poor. She thanked him, then sat in silence, her strange eyes staring out the small round window of the pod.

Feran left the Angel then, not knowing whether he had done good or evil, yet somehow aware that his world was a much different place than it had been an hour before.

~~~

*** Search Results Continued ***

Xenobiology File: Lania: Life Forms: 1275

The impending release of a brood of mature nestlings prompts the male Angel to initiate final coupling. This act triggers the female’s production of higher concentrations of Scream. Scream is the sole nourishment that the young can ingest upon emergence, and also relieves the agony of the male after the brood bursts from him. The female must receive the nestlings within hours of the final coupling, or she will die from the higher Scream level in her blood, which the nestlings cleanse from her system.

The evolutionary advantage of this reproductive approach appears to stem from the increased survival expectations of a brood carried by the stronger male, and the ensured presence of both parents at birth. Although Teplosky drew parallels to the Thendotae on Thendos IV, we feel...

~~~

Unable to sleep, Feran rose early the next day. A chill mist hung from a grey sky. For an hour, he wandered outside the big dome, worrying how to tell the Captain what he had done and why. He stopped. Toward him strode the Captain, with Mojo at his side. Both wore their old long black cloaks, thrown back to reveal weapons strapped to each leg. The gun metal glinted blue and cold, matching the look in the Captain’s eyes.

Feran felt all his fears of the previous night vanish like grass swimmers into the brush. The Captain was going to fight. He would beat Weasel Man, and all would be well.

The Cutter stepped out of the dome as the Captain and Mojo stopped beside Feran. The Captain reached down to ruffle the fur on Feran’s head, then glanced toward the dome. “Ready?”

The Cutter nodded. “Just get him inside.”

A cry made them turn. Procne ran toward them, stumbling with the bulging weight of the brood inside him. “She’s gone! She’s gone!” he cried. He fell gasping into the Cutter’s arms. Feran went cold inside.

The talking box on the Captain’s belt beeped. He lifted it to his face. “It’s from Phi. Time delayed delivery from last night.” They waited as he read. When he spoke, his voice was raspy, like when he took too much dust. “She’s given herself to Weitz. She knows that I won’t surrender her and Pro, that I’ll fight. She doesn’t wish me or any of us to die.” He dropped the device in the dirt. “She knows me better than I know myself, it would seem,” he whispered.

“Our brood—” Procne began.

“She says she would rather her children die than live as slaves, kept only to feed monsters that destroy races.”

“No! Our final coupling was last night. The brood comes!” He placed a thin hand on his pouch. “The essence they must feed on is rising in her blood. If she is not here when they emerge, they will die. If they die without cleansing her...”

“She will die, too,” the Captain finished. “She knew this.”

Mojo frowned. “How’d she know about Weitz? You only told me and Cutter, and just this morning.” The Captain shook his head. Cutter shrugged.

Feran felt as if he were outside his body watching this scene but not part of it, unable to act. Well, he had acted, and this was what had come of it. He heard a voice saying “I told her.” It seemed to be coming from somewhere else, and only when they all turned to look at him did he realize he had spoken.

Silence fell. The Captain knelt down before him, and all the words that Feran had tried to find before came pouring out. He turned his head, baring his throat to the Captain, offering his life. Instead, warm arms encircled him and held him tight. Feran knew that this was a “hug” and found it oddly comforting. The Captain whispered “Oh Feran,” and Feran began to sob.

“So now what?” the Cutter growled as the Captain stood.

They waited. Then the Captain spoke, his voice as calm as when he told Feran a story. “Same plan, with one change. We need Pro with us.” He turned to Procne, and Feran felt a stillness settle, like before two alpha males fought. “You and I, we’ve never quite got it straight between us. Just knew that she somehow needed us both. You never forgave, never trusted me. Can’t say I ever blamed you. Well, I’m asking you to trust me now. If only because you know I wouldn’t hurt her.”

Procne stared at the Captain for several of Feran’s heart beats, then nodded. The Captain turned to the Cutter. “Take Pro inside. Make it look like his hands are tied.” He spoke then to all of them. “Nobody moves till I do, and I won’t move until I know where he’s got Phi. And remember: we need Weitz alive.”

Muttering under his breath, the Cutter pulled Feran into the dome. Feran looked back. The Captain and Mojo strode toward the main entrance, their long cloaks closed, hiding their weapons and shutting out the rain that began to fall hard and cold.

~~~

Inside, Feran saw Guppert standing beside two Stone Puppies. He scampered over to them, glad to leave the morose Cutter, then stopped. Weapons were strapped to one side of the great silica beasts, the side hidden from the door. The Puppies lay on the ground, and Guppert’s shoulder came to the top of their backs.

Guppert grinned and rapped a fat fist on the slate side of the nearest one. “Puppies make good fort, Guppert thinks.” He pointed to the ground. “This where you come, little one, with Guppert, when I give word.” He waddled around to the other side of the Puppies where water buckets and scrub brushes lay. “Now, we get busy looking not dangerous.” He and Feran began scrubbing the Puppies. The Cutter stood with Procne between them and the entrance, Procne’s hands bound behind him.

Feran heard them first. “They are here,” he whispered.

Cutter nodded. A few seconds later, two men in RIP SS uniforms entered with guns. They looked around, then one called outside. “All clear.” Weasel Man came in, then the Captain and Mojo, and more men in SS uniforms. Feran counted, his hope fading as each one entered. Ten, plus the first two, and Weasel Man. Four carried a metal case, their guns slung.

“Thirteen. Damn, I hate thirteen,” muttered the Cutter as he left Procne and sauntered toward a Puppy. Still scrubbing, Guppert moved to the hidden side of his beast. Feran followed.

Weasel Man looked around. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

The Captain shrugged. “Dead or deserted.”

Weasel Man raised an eyebrow and glanced at his men. The Captain nodded at the case. “That our stuff?” he asked, pulling back a sleeve to reveal a Medistim pack. He hit a button on it. Feran knew that he had just taken a “hit.” Mojo did the same.