The Evolution of F.O.R.C.E.

The drainage pipe terminated about 100 feet below the surface of the planet. A short walk down a domed concrete corridor brought them to an indentation on the right-hand wall. A casual inspection would have missed the mark. A low-pitched electronic beep sounded when one of the Chrysallamans put his palm over the depression, and a doorway grated open in the opposite wall. They had reached the entrance to the catacombs. Following a stone ramp lit intermittently by flickering bulbs, the group descended into the planet.

The catacombs where the safe house was located were over 200 feet below the streets of Trissalic, the Chrysallaman capitol. Discovered thousands of years earlier as a series of caves beneath the city, years of Chrysallaman excavation had linked the caves and carved out large chambers from the solid rock. Rooms for storage, sleeping and religious activities had been created over time. As the city grew, the foundations of many buildings incorporated the cave rooms just below them. Secret entrances were installed for the benefit of the building owners, and the catacombs became non-public. Over many changes in ownership and hundreds of years, the entrances to the catacombs became nothing more than legend.

The Asiddian invasion forced the Chrysallamans to discover the catacombs once again. At first the network of rooms and tunnels was lifesaving, but over 30 years of hiding in them had turned the survivors into empty husks of their former selves. Chrysallamans just weren’t meant to be cave dwellers. Lack of food and medical care were leaching away their natural strength and vitality.

Everywhere he looked, Whatsit saw ribs outlined under wasted flesh. The youngest Chrysallamans were the most affected. Many of them stared listlessly at him from the ground where they lay in abject filth. Distended bellies and bone-thin arms and legs marked the worst of the starving children. The sight was disheartening to say the least, and the foul odor was stifling. Anger flashed across his face and he would’ve said something unpleasant if he hadn’t noticed a number of the Chrysallamans staring curiously at him in the light of guttering torches.

Cherree Brookkss looked right at home. She’d been the Chrysallaman who rescued Whatsit and his Human friends from the clutches of the Asiddians. Whatsit couldn’t help noticing how much she looked like her sister, Chellsee.

“Why’s he wearing that funny looking hat?” one of the little ones asked.

Ignoring the child’s question, Cherree said, “Food doesn’t grow without sunshine, and we aren’t able to steal enough to keep their stomachs full. I shudder to think what may happen to them in the next few months.”

Sitting on a raised, flat rock, she motioned and several of the children came and nestled around her for warmth and protection. Welcoming them all, she stroked their heads as she looked at her mother. Helleen Brookkss was 85 years old, and after some introspective comparison, the family resemblance became obvious. Helleen had decided she liked the oddly dressed Whatsit. He had a good head on his shoulders, and the photos of her daughter, Chellsee, with him had convinced her there was more to him than appearance suggested.

Whatsit and his friends had spent the better part of two days reaching the safe house. They’d decided to avoid as many Asiddian search parties as they could. Better not to leave a trail of dead bodies indicating their path of escape. Everyone was still alive and feeling lucky. The group was composed of Doug, Becky, Whatsit, Miguel, his prisoner Princess Caroline Peregrine, Dr. GooYee, Cherree, Helleen and General Dunnbull, chief military leader for the Chrysallaman survivors. The fugitives knew the cave they occupied was somewhere under Trissalic, but they’d taken such a circuitous route to get there, none of them had any idea of its exact location.

Doug needed a bath and a clean change of uniform. He’d suffered a blow to his forehead which bled down the side of his face in a runny mess. Several days of crawling through rain-soaked vegetation and hiding under ratty tarpaulins hadn’t helped his grooming habits or his disposition. Every time he moved, his skin gritted against the dirty cloth of his outfit.

Becky was normally a vivacious 5-foot 6-inch sprite with coal black hair worn in a complex twisting loop at the back of her head. Right now she felt as dirty as she looked. The sparkle in her eyes had been replaced with the dull glaze of weariness.

Miguel wasn’t feeling too clean right now, but he seemed more worried about Princess Peregrine than himself. Trapped in the midst of native Chrysallamans subjected to the whims of murderous Asiddians for many years, Caroline was sure to be killed at the first opportunity if Miguel didn’t remain on guard. Only the dirty nature of her clothing, the grime on her face and her seated position which hid her natural height kept her from being recognized as the Princess of the enslaving marauders.

Peregrine’s dishwater-blonde hair was matted and full of small sticks and other debris from their days escaping capture. She’d been dressed in a royal purple, floor length gown festooned with hundreds of tiny diamonds that glittered every time she moved. Now the gown was a muddy mess and many of the diamonds had been torn off as she crawled with her captors through ditch after ditch toward the safe house. Her sparkling diamond tiara was bent in several places and looked more like a cheap barrette than a royal diadem.

GooYee looked like a medical doctor even if he was only a physicist. Though his white lab coat was smeared with dirt and grease from their long journey, he had the aura of someone with the ability to heal. Many of the children held their bone-thin arms out to him in pleading gestures. Tears of grief poured down GooYee’s face as he tried to reassure the sickly children. He had no medical training or supplies. All he could do was stroke their arms and mentally whisper that better days were coming soon. Memories of his love for Marrylynne on the planet Cuddlur and her hideous death at the hands of Tuurket Axxdo resurfaced as he gazed at the putrid condition of the Chrysallamans.

“Something has to change soon, or we could lose some of the weaker children,” Cherree said as she opened her arms to yet another child.

“This is unbelievable,” Whatsit murmured. “These people are starving to death.”

“Not if I can help it,” Doug responded. “I’m going hunting.”

“I’ll go with you,” Becky chimed in.

“The food warehouses are too well guarded by Asiddian troops. It’s an impossible task,” Helleen said.

“Perhaps,” Becky responded as she looked at the old woman, “but we’re going to try anyway. The Asiddians better have a good supply of body bags ’cause they’re going to need ’em.”

“Insulting the Asiddians’ clothing won’t fill the children’s empty stomachs,” General Dunnbull blurted.

Pettrr Dunnbull was the Chrysallaman in charge of the military arm of the Resistance. His arms were secured behind his back with handcuffs taken from one of his guards days ago in the room that served as a janitors’ closet. Whatsit had beaten Dunnbull’s enforcer Ezzcobar Rakkrr, and the General hadn’t forgiven the strange, hat wearing lizard for the object lesson.

Dunnbull’s skin was a very dark green if you ignored the muddy stains plastering his body. His standard combat vest was studded with badges and ribbons, many of which were discolored and bent during the escape from the Asiddians. A Chrysallaman starburst hung from a now threadbare yellow ribbon around his neck. At an Olympic ceremony, he might have been mistaken for a bronze medal winner if the bauble and its ribbon were in first class condition. When cleaned up, the General looked like a decorated Christmas tree.

Rolling his eyes at Dunnbull’s response, Doug said, “A body bag is for a dead person, you idiot.”

Rising to his feet from a stone where he’d been sitting, a teenaged Chrysallaman growled, “No one speaks to the General like that, especially an animal!”

“Oh no,” Doug responded sarcastically. “I guess I’ve broken another unspoken rule. You Chriks are your own worst enemies.”

“Are you mocking me, animal?” the young Chrysallaman asked.

“Boottall, sit down!” Dunnbull ordered. “Not in front of the children.”

Boottall might have been 5-feet tall. He was just beginning to experience his first growth spurt, and his legs and feet were large in proportion to the rest of his body. Some kind of gang tattoo was inked into his left forearm, and several of his buddies sitting around him sported similar tattoos. The young toughs seemed to be anticipating a fight. Boottall acted as if he was the gang’s leader.

Chagrined his angry retort to the General and Boottall was in front of the children; Doug glanced around the room and noticed several of the little Chrysallamans had buried their faces in Cherree’s gown out of fear. Becky was looking at him with a pained expression, and he realized he’d made a mistake. You don’t respond in anger to harsh words unless your response is understood in context by the listeners. All he’d done was react like an unthinking animal. Now the children were scared of him. No longer holding the high moral ground, Doug felt he had to say something.

“I apologize for my poor choice of words, General. I’m tired and dirty, and my reactions weren’t appropriate under the circumstances.”

Trying to make amends, Doug reached over and unlocked the General’s handcuffs.

Rubbing his wrists to restore circulation and feeling, Dunnbull said, “No, they sure weren’t.”

Looking at Boottall, Doug said, “Sorry for making you mad.”

Still upset by the audacity of the animal, but heeding the warning of Dunnbull and feeling the strength of the telepathic signals emanating from Doug, Boottall settled back on his haunches with a pensive scowl. Several of his buddies slapped his shoulders congratulating him for putting the animal in its place. After all, Doug was nothing more than an ignorant alien for all they knew or cared.

Dunnbull took the opportunity of silence to say, “The best warehouse where food can be stolen is located in the northern end of the city. I can draw you a map.”

Still remembering the General’s attempt to murder his friends in the janitor’s closet, Doug didn’t feel the time had come to trust the Chrik. Using his telepathic abilities, he peered into the lizard’s thoughts.

“So now you’re cooperative,” Doug replied. “It’s the most heavily guarded warehouse. You’re hoping we’ll be captured or killed by the Asiddians.”

Understanding rocked Dunnbull.

The Human had seen every thought in his mind. There was no keeping secrets around these blasted aliens! He’d have to find some other way to eliminate them.

The Human broke into his thoughts, “General, I appreciate your volunteering to help us. Thank you.”

Staring at the crazy Human, Dunnbull blurted, “I didn’t volunteer for anything. I wouldn’t be caught dead trying to break into an Asiddian warehouse, especially that one!”

Feeling a little rested and proud of Doug for using his telepathic powers to good purpose, Becky replied, “Sure you volunteered, General. Every time you think out loud you volunteer for something.”

Hearing GooYee’s muffled chuckling, Dunnbull said, “Stop laughing at me, you traitorous slime.”

“Sorry,” GooYee answered, but the grin remained. “I’m beginning to understand Human sarcasm.”

***

The northern warehouse district in Trissalic was a nasty deathtrap. Discarded trash filled the gutters, and the smell of rotten, dead bodies was everywhere. Skeletons of hundreds of Chrysallamans lay in putrid heaps piled as high as 8 feet. Fences had been erected across streets, and armed Asiddian troops guarded the only gate. Emaciated bodies of starving Chrysallamans were impaled on fence poles near the main entrance to Warehouse A-1. The dead Chrysallamans had tried to rush the A-1 gate to get some food and been executed. Their bodies were stuck on the sharpened fence posts as a warning to anyone else who might try to enter the site. Sure death awaited any non-Asiddians who attempted to gain access to the warehouse.

A hundred feet away, hidden behind some old pallets, Doug fought the urge to vomit. The sights and smells in the warehouse district were beyond anything he’d ever encountered. Becky peered over his shoulder. The look of horror in her eyes was understandable. She’d never seen such depravity in her life. Whatsit was incensed. His people were being wiped out by the Asiddians, and they had a 30-year head start. He wondered how many Asiddians he could kill before his life was forfeited. With difficulty, he held his rage in check.

General Dunnbull looked placid. He’d seen and smelled so much death in his career, it was becoming commonplace. He would’ve been surprised if there weren’t any dead bodies. Hoping to add Whatsit and the Humans to the body count was his goal, but he had to play cooperative right now and bide his time. Sooner or later, death would find them, and he could then return to his routine command. In the meantime, the possible death of a few Asiddians wasn’t a bad thing.

Boottall crouched near Dunnbull and fought his puzzled thoughts. On the one hand, he couldn’t understand why the General didn’t lash out and kill the Humans. He’d had plenty of opportunities as far as the boy was concerned. On the other hand, the Human animals had been kind to every Chrysallaman. He didn’t mean subservient. They were never that. Nice was a better word. Except for the one outburst of disrespect by Jenson, all of them had been nice.

The one named Jenson had told a story to his buddies and him about a planet called Earth. The place sounded like a paradise compared to Chrysalis. Blue sky. Plenty of water and food. The story of the Chrysallaman settlers was fascinating. The Human sympathizer, GooYee, had never contradicted Jenson’s story and in fact had added details to it. GooYee had been one of the survivors and lived on Earth for a time. Boottall felt he must have been brainwashed because Gooey, as the Humans called him, seemed to like the strange animals.

Forgetting where he was and the danger of exposure, Boottall peered around the stack of pallets where they were hiding and stared at the dead Chrysallamans speared on the fence posts. Feeling a gentle pressure on the top of his head, Boottall peered sideways and saw it was Jenson pushing his head down and away from exposure to gunfire.

“Be careful, kid. We don’t know what kind of sensor system they have. Better to be safe.”

“I’m not afraid of any Asiddians.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Doug responded with a smile. “I’m counting on your help to get us into that warehouse and revealing our presence isn’t being sneaky.”

Grumbling about hating being told what to do, Boottall complied. Now was not the time for confrontations.

“A direct approach is out of the question,” Doug whispered.

Looking at Becky, he asked, “Think you can pull off another Asiddian illusion?”

The air around Becky shimmered and suddenly an Asiddian in full battle gear was crouching where she’d been seated. The soldier was a good 6-feet 11-inches tall with coal black skin and hair. Her eyes were hazel and heavily lidded. Her nose could be nine inches long but it was difficult to tell because it curved to the right as if it had been broken in the past and hadn’t healed properly.

“Well, what do you know,” Doug said. “Wendron Piper has returned.”

Dunnbull almost screamed but held his tongue as he noticed Jenson was calm. Boottall wasn’t as composed. He squealed. The new Asiddian grabbed him and stepped out from concealment. Acting like she’d been searching for stragglers and found one, the Asiddian warrior dragged the young Chrysallaman toward the closed gate leading into Warehouse A-1.

The gate guards at first pointed their disintegrators at Becky, but seeing an Asiddian was walking toward them with a struggling Chrysallaman teenager, they lowered the weapons.

The one in charge said, “Another straggler. I thought they’d all gotten the message to stay away from here.”

Imposter Becky was 20 feet away from the three guards and closing. She answered, “What do you expect from these ignorant beasts? They’re too stupid to realize when they’re defeated.”

Fighting against the steely grip Becky had on his neck, Boottall dejectedly gave up and walked to his doom. Despondent over his inability to struggle free from the Asiddian he’d thought was a Human, he tightened his gut in anticipation of death. He noticed sweat dripping from Becky’s forehead as they neared the guards. On such a cool day, she shouldn’t be that hot.

Frowning as he thought about the sweat, Boottall suddenly received a clear telepathic message, “Get ready. Be careful.”

He was 4 feet from the guards and still wondering what the message meant when all hell broke loose.

Without warning, the grip on his neck was gone, and the Asiddian who’d been holding him plowed into the guards. Quick chops to their necks with the edge of her hands cleaved the heads off two of them. The third began raising his disintegrator, but Becky was faster. Losing her illusion as she concentrated on the guards, Becky dissolved into her Human form, lunged at the last guard and shoved the barrel end of his weapon toward the sky. The disintegrator fired a red beam, but all it did was shoot a passing cloud. Boottall watched in amazement as the thick gun barrel bent as Becky grabbed it with two hands. Before he died, the last thing the shocked guard saw was the u-shaped barrel of his weapon. A quick chop to his neck severed his head from his body, and it joined the others on the asphalt. The whole attack had lasted perhaps 15 seconds.

Picking up two of the undamaged disintegrator weapons, Becky handed one to the puzzled teenager and motioned for the rest of her group, hidden behind the stack of pallets, to join her.

“Good work, Becky. Boottall,” Doug said as he walked up.

Boottall puffed out his chest and replied, “They didn’t have a chance.”

Looking at Becky, Doug said, “No, they didn’t.”

Smiling at the compliment, she turned her attention to Whatsit and said, “Why don’t you see if you can find a transport. We need to take as much as possible on this trip because I have a feeling Asiddian security is going way up after they discover these bodies.”

“I’ll help,” Boottall said as he grinned at Whatsit.

“Thanks,” and they walked into the warehouse with the young Chrysallaman holding a disintegrator rifle at the ready like a trained commando.

General Dunnbull looked in amazement at the Asiddian blood on the edge of Becky’s hands and the bent barrel of the weapon on the ground. He knew he couldn’t have bent the metal barrel by himself using a steel vise and all the strength he could muster.

Regarding Becky with narrowed eyes, he thought, “There’s something very strange about these Humans. Very strange indeed. It may not be as easy as I thought to get rid of them.”

Whatsit found a vehicle and with everyone’s help, they loaded over 3 tons of canned food, boxes of energy bars and special energy drinks Boottall said were needed for a healthy Chrysallaman diet. They added a couple of pallets of medical supplies and drugs. The trip back to the safe house was uneventful. It didn’t go unnoticed that a smiling Boottall sat next to Becky.