Authors: Stephen W Bennett
Koban (13 page)
“Parkoda”, called Dillon. The Krall's attention was instantly
on him, so he looked slightly to the side. “I wish to help. Humans work faster when
they understand what is expected of them. If a human causes a Krall to kill him
only because the human does not understand what you want, the process of collecting
live prisoners will not be efficient.”
Since the Krall hadn't smashed him aside or killed him yet, Dillon
continued. “These humans here know nothing of the Krall. If a human believed you
will kill them, no matter what they do, then they will not do what you tell them
to do quickly. There is no advantage for survival in that case. Do the Krall think
different?”
The Krall seemed somewhat bemused. “If humans are told how they
can survive, they will better work for the Krall? A Krall cub is not told how to
survive, it learns or dies, and a Krall will never work for an enemy.”
“Humans are not as advanced as the Krall.” Answered Dillon, “They
want to live, but must believe there is a chance to survive before they will work
harder for you. To work when there is no hope of living is wasteful to humans.”
Dillon didn't know what Parkoda’s experience with humans was. Most people would
do anything just to avoid serious pain, let alone claw and fight for the last breath
of life. However, it was also true that some few people might react exactly as he
had just described. He was gambling that Parkoda didn't have much of a grasp of
the variation in human nature.
The gamble worked. Parkoda wanted his prize catch bad enough
to accept this logic. “Tell your clan mates how to survive, but they will repay
me with instant obedience and hard work.”
Noting that the mike had been active, and hopeful the impromptu
words were picked up, Mirikami finished his announcement. He assured the passengers
and crew they would be safer if they received the tattoo, and to not provoke any
warrior by directly staring at them. He switched off the intercom with his left
hand, as feeling started to return to his right arm.
Parkoda again addressed the shoulder communicator disk, and the
three humans hoped that the others would soon be safer, relatively speaking.
Noreen suddenly uttered a slight gasp. Dillon noticed where she
was looking, and saw Krall walking along each of the two gory blood stained corridors,
visible on the main screen. They were passing among the already dead, and the injured.
They were killing the wounded, with casual neck snaps or thrusts of short knives
to the back of the skulls, or cutting throats.
Noreen couldn’t hold her tongue. “Parkoda,” she blurted, “the
injured people can be made healthy again, to work for you, let our doctors try to
fix them. You said you want more of us alive if we can take them on this ship.”
The Krall
looked impassively at the screens, where the brutal executions continued.
“Those humans have shown they are not fit to live, not able to
defeat an enemy, or quick enough to submit to a stronger warrior. We do not need
or want them for combat tests. They failed here. It would dishonor even a Krall
novice to be sent to fight such proven worthless animals.”
Next, they
heard a chilling future in store not just for themselves, but also for humanity.
“Humans, marked as a novice will have testing done on Koban as
warriors, or to fight in packs, to measure how we can make better our bloodlines.
When we know if you can defeat some warriors, or measure how many must work together
to do this, then we slowly will take your worlds from you, we will force you to
fight. As our best warriors prove their worth, and breed to make better, stronger,
faster cubs, our weakest will die.”
Dillon tested the waters with a question. “Koban is your home?”
“It will be home when we walk our Great Path longer. The name
we give it means place of testing, first for our warriors, and now where we test
humans. It is an honor we give to you, more than for many animals we have found.
“You may prove humans are skilled enough to kill our poorest
warriors. If you are good enough, we will use you to remove Krall blood that is
too weak to own the galaxy. If you prove no good as fighters, then be slaves to
make new worlds into good nests. Your meat is poor in taste so we will not use you
this way. But in combat we eat what is needed for fighting.”
The three humans shared startled looks as Parkoda rambled through
his boast, if boast it was. Not only was it ominous to hear what they planned for
them personally, but worse were the plans for all of Human Space. People were merely
bad tasting meat animals in a pinch, for the Krall.
Dillon probed another claim the Krall had made. “Parkoda, your
people have found other species to fight in the galaxy?”
“Not so many good to fight as we found. One of a hand of new
animals are only meat, two of a hand are mostly good for slaves. Good fighters are
used until they are gone.”
Noting that the Krall had four digits, Dillon assumed a hand
meant four. Parkoda’s claim meant they simply killed and ate one fourth of the races
they had encountered, enslaved half, and fought to extinction the rest.
“We seek any that are good at combat. Humans do not seem very
good for that, because we see no wars between you. However, other captives say you
fight with yourselves at one time. We have found bigger and stronger animals than
you, but you do have many worlds, and we see you can work together. There will be
good breeding rights for our clans if you can fight better.”
“How many other races have you met and fought?” Dillon asked.
“Were they as smart as you are, with a high technology like yours and did you defeat
them?” He was trying to exploit the Krall’s apparent tendency to brag, and he really
burned to know the answers.
Parkoda made a snorting hiss sound as he reared his muzzle sharply
upwards. “We have met and defeated four hands plus one before you. Humans are…,”
he paused, as he seemed to think. “You will be eighteen in your numbers, for us
to kill, to eat, or to make slaves.
“We have explored only one part of eight eights of our galaxy.
In time, we will own all, and our wisest breeders say we may find four to the eighth
races to fight. Some we found before were much more advanced in science than you,
or even more than us. Those races are now all dead, slaves, or food for our cubs.”
Dillon had already surmised the Krall used a base eight number
system, since they had eight digits versus our ten. Dillon wasn’t an outstanding
mathematician, but his rough estimate using Parkoda’s base eight numbers seemed
unbelievably high. It sounded like the Krall expected to encounter over sixty five
thousand intelligent races in the Milky Way galaxy. That seemed incredible.
Counting the Krall, we had now met exactly one, and had heard
the weak signals from one that was far distant. Nevertheless, the sphere of Human
Space, a volume barely five hundred light years in radius, was actually a tiny portion
of the one hundred twenty thousand light year diameter of the whole galaxy. The
Krall apparently held a large edge in the exploration department, and their finding
eighteen races supported that conclusion. Humankind was in deep trouble.
Noreen, ashen faced, after witnessing the half dozen or so murders
in the two corridors, had to speak.
“We humans have looked for other races for hundreds of our years,
hoping to find them, to be friends, to trade with them, to learn about them. Why
can’t humans and your people live in peace? We don’t need to fight, and waste lives
and material. Isn’t that inefficient?”
Parkoda glared at her, stepping closer in a swift and gliding
movement. “Combat is the only true way to follow the Path!” he growled deeply. “Already
we followed the Great Path for twenty five thousand of your number of years. We
will be the greatest predators in the galaxy. All others are animals for us to
defeat.”
He pulled back from her a step. “We cannot breed to be strongest,
fastest, most deadly warriors without the purge of death to remove the weakest of
our genes. We breed only the best fighters in our race, and fight for the right
to breed. We were once weaker than now, long ago, and for a time paid a slave’s
price for weakness. We grew strong, killed, and ate the hearts and meat of the Olt’kitapi
animals, who tried to dominate us, to make us be peaceful and weak. They showed
weakness when they thought we were tame animals, ready to be used. They paid for
their stupidity. We
will
be the strongest of any race. You humans are next
to help us.”
Dillon considered the Krall’s statement that they had spent twenty
five thousand years on this “Great Path” they followed. He couldn’t tell if that
had all been as a space faring race, or if it included pre space flight on their
home world. Perhaps having to breed to improve their gene pool forced a slower pace
in their expansion.
Human recorded history up to now, including ancient early civilizations,
was probably about fifty five hundred years. Whatever this “Path” was for the Krall,
they didn’t seem in as big hurry as humanity had been. Despite a huge lead and long
experience, perhaps we might give them a run for their money. If we could
survive for long enough to get better.
The novice marking they received wasn’t exactly a branding, because
the Krall also bore partly filled variations of the ovals, and the process commenced
with almost no complications. “Almost” consisted of merely two killings. One
was a mother’s hopeless attempt to protect her teenage son, who had tried to push
away the tool that was the source of the stinging coldness when triggered. The Krall
novice had used just one hand, talons fully extended, to tear through the chest
wall and rip the heart out of the fourteen-year-old boy. His screaming mother had
lunged forward to save the slumping but already dead boy, and had her own throat
torn out as her reward.
The Krall calmly cleaned its hand on the clothing of the mother,
as she lay dying and gurgling blood bubbles on the deck. In a horrifying gesture,
it used a long purple tongue to lick a sample of the blood dripping from the boy’s
heart in its hand. It made what anyone could see was a sour face at an unpleasant
taste. He tossed the heart on the floor by the boy’s mother.
The warrior stepped several feet to the side of the bodies, and
held his tool up as he pointed at and glared at the next man in the line, waiting
his turn.
Although shaking and terrified, that man and the others in the
group stepped past the bodies and chose survival, permitting the markings without
another incident. The other decks fared better and lost no one.
With the arrival of the Krall Clanship, more Krall came aboard
the Flight of Fancy. Two more blue uniformed translators arrived. Parkoda proved
to be the highest ranking alien on the raid. Rank was registered in their tattoos
because the other two translators wore the same blue bodysuit, without any obvious
marks of rank on uniforms, nor any on the black suits of the warriors.
The newcomer’s initial discussions with Parkoda, conducted in
the ultrasonic range, ignored the three humans on the flight deck, except for a
brief exchange in Standard with Mirikami, telling him the new translators would
be stationed with the crew as they worked on ship’s systems. As the new arrivals
spread through the ship, Parkoda seemed to exude a more relaxed demeanor. He proved
receptive to their offers to “help” smooth the work before the Jump.
Mirikami
asked if his Drive Room personnel could shut down and restart the Trap fields.
Parkoda answered, “That is allowed, because the Clanship can prevent any Jump if
you tried to escape. Even if you did Jump away, the warriors would kill all
aboard. We also have brought a small Jump Hole machine that can destroy your ship.
We will use that to hide your dead before we leave this star.”
Mirikami glanced at Noreen at this assertion. A portable Trap
field to form a Jump Hole again demonstrated the Krall went well beyond human technology.
However, that was already a given.
Dillon noted the Clanship, visible on a view screen, was half
again as large as the Flight of Fancy, but how many Krall it carried was hard to
determine. Parkoda had said they were able to transport captives back as well. That
idea triggered a more important thought.
Dillon posed a question, one that he tried to form as a helpful
suggestion, although he expected to hear bad news. “Parkoda, if permitted I can
perhaps help you preserve more live captives at the Midwife Station, if I can talk
to them first.”
The total radio silence when they first arrived had prepared
him for the answer. Mirikami and Noreen looked at him, and wondered at the offer,
since they were just as aware of the probable meaning of that silence.
“There is no station at this star now,” Parkoda stated. “It went
into a Jump Hole. The same messages we sent to you did not convince them. They continued
to fire weapons at our single ships, and tried to stop our boarding. The novice
warriors were happy. All but two hands and three are dead now. Those are on the
Clanship.”
Dillon had expected bad news, but only eleven survivors, out
of a hundred and twenty or so support and construction people, plus at least a dozen
University staff people. Their loss came as a blow.
He blocked out his feelings and made another
helpful
proposal.
“If those humans are placed on this ship, it would make feeding them and guarding
them easier for your warriors. That would reduce the chance they will lose their
usefulness to you, by not forcing their deaths too soon in unmeasured combat
with a novice.”
