Chapter 3

At last, after an eternity of walking, Feld realized where he was. As the darkness surrendered to grayish light, the details hidden from view were revealed. He was in an old cargo spaceport, one of the large, automated, industrial ones. This one was decommissioned; it had been stripped of all worthwhile equipment and closed up. Except that, for some unknown reason, the primary bay doors had been opened a few meters.

Feld ran the last few hundred meters to the bay doors and forced himself to stop some distance away from them. Off to his right in the shadows, he could still hear the drop-drops, but they weren’t echoing anymore. Something wasn’t right, though. With his nerves crying out to escape this oversized tomb, he stopped walking toward the holy light and forced himself to think the situation through.

Why was he here? Clearly, he had sensed the, failed?, attempt on his life, but why bring him here, unless it was for a reason? And why the initial attempt? Revenge? Granted, there were more than a few beings who wanted him dead. But, again, why not kill him outright? A counter-insurgency op? Perhaps his meeting with C’then had been discovered? Far too many questions and running pell-mell through an open door in one’s underwear without knowing what lay beyond was mere suicide.

Feld decided to find out what was causing the drop-drop sounds. Cautiously walking into the shadows along the spaceport wall to his right, Feld found a large pipe and valve. Beneath the spout there was a large grate covering the floor. Clear liquid drops were forming on the mouth of the spout and falling through the grate into the void below. Examining the spout, Feld could see that it was threaded; the various hoses and fittings were probably long since gone. Feld put a finger and thumb up against a forming droplet and confirmed his suspicion that this was a water pipe of some sort. But, why was there water coming out? Sure, the valve could be corroding, but wouldn’t the water have been shut off further up the pipeline?

Feld retraced his steps back to the bay doors. Carefully, he approached the opening and looked outside.

Beyond the doors, the concrete floor extended straight out for nearly a kilometer or so and formed a launching/landing pad. To the left and right, the concrete ended in a set of metal railings to keep people from falling off the edge. Beyond the concrete edge and into the distance around the pad, treetops could be seen as well as forested hills and mountains; this spaceport had been built into the side of a mountain. Off to his left, a late afternoon sun was settling down beyond the hills.

The mound of clothing dead ahead on the launch pad caught his eye. From what he could see, it looked like the street clothes he was wearing when he got waylaid. Obvious bait, but for what purpose?

Considering his next move, Feld leaned against one of the bay doors to catch his breath a bit. He was startled to feel it slide further open without hearing any of the squeaks and moans that corroded metal would make. That could mean that the doors were freshly oiled.

None of this was making sense. A clandestine meeting had gone wrong, that much he knew. He also knew that an assassination attempt had failed to kill him outright, but why not just finish the job instead of partially imprisoning him in an abandoned, but newly reopened cargo port?

The afternoon sun was beginning to duck behind the mountains and the world outside began to surrender to the shadows. Mulling over his options and finding d.amned few, Feld decided that it was time to make things happen. It was time to sieze the initiative. He started by walking to the clothing pile.

He sensed the hot blood scent on his fourth footstep. Without breaking stride, he continued to the clothing pile, casually looking around as he did so and seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Reaching the pile, Feld saw that they were, indeed, his clothes and, surprisingly, his walking stick. Reaching down to pick them up, he heard her voice.

“I know you can sense me, guardian!”

Feld paused, just for a bit, then commenced dressing himself.

“Yes, and I know who you are, or what you are anyway. However, it seems I was misinformed. You’re not as deadly as your reputation made you out to be.” Feld pointed to the still bloody wound behind his left ear. He then finished dressing, faded blue Earth denim pants, dark green and brown mottled Nova Terran linen pullover shirt, black Askaran armored wool travelling robe, socks and travelling boots. Finally, he picked up his walking stick, wondering if the surprise held within had been discovered. Meanwhile, the pheromone scent had dimmed, whether due to distance or mood, he couldn’t tell.

“That? That was merely to get your attention.” A pause, then two thin cylindrical objects appeared out of the air from the direction of the hangar. They bounced on the concrete platform and landed near Feld’s feet. Feld recognized them as the power packs that were usually kept in his walking stick. His heart sank.

“Thought you might want those back. That was a pleasant surprise, by the way. I’d never seen an Askaran Stinger Stick in person before. I almost killed myself with it before I realized what it was. You must’ve paid quite a few credits to get one of those. The Askarans don’t give those up lightly.”

Feld walked over to the power packs and put them in one of the inner pockets of his travelling robe. He checked his other pockets and found that his leather-lined steel whiskey flask was still there. A quick shake confirmed its emptiness. Things were going from bad to worse. Weaponless, spiritless, it was just his wits and his fists and that was never good.

Feld, showing a calm he did not feel, walking stick in both hands, walked to the center of the concrete platform, faced the hangar and assumed a relaxed stance. He scanned the hangar wall and the surrounding area, but could find no visual sign of anything out of the ordinary. A distant memory began to nag at him to stall for time.

“No. They don’t. But I didn’t get it from the Askarans. I won it in an illegal dice game on…, well, where isn’t important right now. What is important, to me anyway, are your current plans. If you didn’t mean to kill me, then what’s the next step? Why the big production?”

Silence. Then, “I don’t believe you about the dice game. If you’re going to lie to me, I’m not going to talk to you.”

That, was an unexpected response. He was, of course, lying, but it was such a trivial lie. Why didn’t she believe him about the dice game?

Minutes passed in silence. The sun was now fully behind the mountains and the light was fading fast. That distant memory now told Feld that something important was about to happen soon and to be alert for it. Neither Feld nor his memory knew the half of it.

As dusk began its turn to twilight, a portion of the hangar wall began to lose its shape. It began to melt, then solidify, then collapse, invert, twist and finally shatter-morph into the figure of a humanoid. A silver gray, shimmering nude female humanoid. That’s when Feld remembered.

The Gray Ladies did all of their work in broad daylight. The dermal camouflage genetic manipulation added photonic transmitter/receptor characteristics to their epidermal skin cells. Through concentration, the transmitters could broadcast any hue needed. Through training, the Gray Ladies could mimic any background from any point of view by feeling the light on the receptors. Without lighting, the camouflage ability breaks down and the skin of the Gray Ladies displays a kaleidoscopic display of silvers and charcoals and grays. It was their vulnerability. It was the reason behind the underground prisons on Nova Terra.

That’s when Feld charged. Even with the fatigue from his exodus from the hangar, he had perhaps 20 seconds to reach her before she reacted. It seemed like it could be enough time. It wasn’t.

She spread her arms, hands straight out, then aimed them directly at Feld’s charging form. Two small, metal tubes stuck to the insides of her upper arms, ejected small bolts of bluish light which passed through his chest.

There was no pain, just a complete loss of sensation. When his vision returned, he was lying on his back completely numb and unable to move. Sitting astride his stomach, feet placed on each side of his neck, almost cradling his head, was the Gray Lady herself, now close enough for her features to be seen.

She was young, hairless of course, as they all were, and strikingly beautiful even with the shifting hues of her skin. His pheromone sense filled his awareness with the scent of burnt roses and broken thorns. She looked down at him with a smug expression on her face.

“That was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. I mean you couldn’t think of anything better to try?” She shook her head. “I expected more from an Askaran Field Marshall. Frell, I would have expected more from a simple guardian. Tsk, I almost feel bad about handi…” Her voice cut off as she turned her head toward the low hum of a Protean air car approaching the landing pad.

It all made sense now, but it was too late. Only one person knew Feld as an Askaran Field Marshall and that person was no friend. Laying there powerless, Feld wished that his destiny had been untimely assassination in among the fleshpots and tralkshops of Denara city.