CHAPTER 7

"Stinks!" Smith observed, looking at the water. "They must dump their refuse right into the water. How disgusting."

Female aliens ran up to the ship, if only out of curiosity. Pointing long fingers, tipped with short ebony claws, gestured at the humans. Obviously they thought humans quite funny to look at because a generalized giggle broke out amongst the group.

"Hey look Smith, your admirers await." Don gestured with a mirthful grin. "Perhaps one of them will buy you. Nah. Never mind. Put you on the slave block and they won't be able to give you away."

"Indeed Major," was the only response West got. Lack of a comeback forced Don to study his antagonist more closely. He was greeted with a completely ingenuous expression. Shrugging it off to one of the Doctor's many moods, Don got into line beside John. As the prisoners were herded down the gangplank, a small ruckus among two angry oarsmen caused the gangway to bounce. Guards rushed into the fray, trying to pull the biting clawing beings apart.

Suddenly Don was jostled from the side and, with a yelp of surprise, found himself plunged headfirst into the murky, filthy, stinking water. When he surfaced, he spat the foul smelling sewage from his mouth, while flailing to get a grip on the slimy wood supporting the pier. Long, lanky limbs stretched out to drag him back onto dry ground. There were clearly not enough limbs, and the leader ordered more of his men to help. They flopped the sopping wet and stinking Major onto the wharf as if he were a huge fish. He was covered in odoriferous sludge, bits of dead-sea creatures, rotten vegetables and other things too disgusting to label.

Chuckling with pleasure, Smith leaned in to get a close look. "Major, I do believe we've discovered your true calling...dumpster diving."

Still hacking and retching, West fixed upon Smith a superheated glare that would have caused the Doctor to spontaneously combust, had that been possible. "You... you..." he sputtered, too outraged to think coherently. "...did this!"

"Not I Major. It was your clumsy feet that landed you in the drink."

"With a little help from my...friends," West continued to accuse, spitting out the last word as if it were utterly distasteful.

Smith gave him an irritating smirk. "What else are friends for, my dear Don. However, in this case you accomplished this feat of aerial acrobatics all on your own."

There was a brief blaze of mocking laughter in Smith's eyes, which he quickly stifled, but it was enough to confirm West's initial suspicions. Don got unsteadily to his feet and made as if to lunge at the man who had been causing all this misery. Uncharacteristically, Smith stood his ground. Before the guards could get there with whips cracking, John, hastily stepped between the Jupiter 2 pilot and the irate prankster.

"Enough!" he shouted. "Can't you two stop this nonsense for even a second? Smith can't help himself Don. But I expect more from you. So let it go and stay out of his way."

After a few seconds thought, Don threw up his reeking hands in surrender. John didn't need to parent both of them, as well as his own family. He had far too many other things to worry about. But West tucked the event in the back of his mind, hoping that he could return 'favor' for 'favor' somewhere along the line.

Besides, John had strategically maintained his position between victim and perpetrator in order to keep their captors from murdering both men in a fit of frustration.

Unfortunately the doctor was in rare form. Before the group had exited the long wharf, Smith spread his arms, threw his chest forward like any good sun worshipping beach bum, and bellowed out in fine voice, "Here comes the sun…"

Bristling crests began to twitch and John heard snarls rumbling deep within chests. It was one thing to listen to that horrible sound when in the midst of a screaming storm and churning ocean, when one was too busy trying to survive to pay much attention to one bad singer; however, it was quite another matter to be forced to endure it when overly sensitive ears had no threat more pressing to distract them.

"Shut up, Smith!" John warned for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Deep down he was cringing. It wasn't like the doctor to laugh in the face of danger. Worse yet, it was unlike him to sing the oldies. That in itself was worrying the leader of the Jupiter 2. He reached out to nudge Smith as the doctor drew in another breath. "I mean it!"

"Don't be such a sour puss, my dear professor. I do believe I am in rare voice today. And look," he added, pointing at the bright sun. "at least it stopped raining, therefore, we have something to count our blessings for."

Behind him, John heard West mutter, "Oh boy." He made a surreptitious wave of one hand behind his back to cut short any further comments.

With a laugh, Smith slid into another golden oldie, "Sunny! Yesterday my life was filled with rain…"

"Smith!" yelled Don and John. For one of the few times in his life, John wanted to actually pound the doctor into a mound of jelly. And from the looks of their captors and fellow slaves, most of them would have eagerly added a few shots of their own for good measure.

"Don't like that one?" Smith asked in an ingenuous tone sprinkled with a hint of humor, then added in the New York accent of his youth, "Sheesh, critics, can't please 'em' no mattah what ya do!".

Just as the group was about to pass the transition from wooden wharf to thickly planked dock, the doctor had to give it one final try. Throwing all caution to the wind, he burst into a quick refrain of "It's a Beautiful Morning!" Unfortunately, he didn't get very far when one of the guards snagged him by the material of his T-shirt and lifted.

Strung up by his own shirt, Smith's blue eyes bugged out, twice their normal size, and he tried, ineffectually, to pry the guard's hands from his clothing before he passed out. Snarls and growls and crude calls of encouragement egged the guard on. Even the prisoners were fed up, looking for a moment's quiet or, failing that, a lynching.

With Smith still dangling with his feet a foot off the planking, the guard made a move toward the shallow, stinking, murky, miasma of muck, dead fish, and other nameless forms of offal.

Despite himself, West began howling, "Do it! Do it!"

John was in agreement but didn't relish the thought of being caught between two disgustingly stinky human beings…one was quite bad enough, two would be insufferable. Not that he was going to admit as much to his friend and Jupiter 2 copilot.

If Smith hadn't been garroted by his own clothing at the moment, he would doubtless have been shrieking and pleading for help. No one doubted he was instantly sorry for the impulsive, devil may care attitude of a few moments past, but he was clearly in no position to ask for forgiveness or anything else.

And then John saw it, the hand grasping the nearly unconscious miscreant began to lower to the dock. John heaved a sigh of relief. 'Saved again,' he thought, then let a silent laugh whirl through his mind.. 'That man has more lives than ten cats!'

The tips of brown boots just touched the wharf, when Smith took in a huge, rasping, gasp of air. Chest still heaving, he bestowed a haughty, mocking look upon the guard, a look that his antagonist didn't miss or mistake.

In the next instant, Smith discovered that man could fly without wings, at least for a few yards. He had time for one anguished shriek before he drew in a massive breath and, already nauseated by the stench, belly flopped into the slime.

Feeling as he was drowning in sludge, Smith fought the urge to gag, and struggled to bring his head above water. Even when he was certain his mouth and nose were clear of the revolting soup, he dreaded taking that first breath. Splashing and struggling to get his feet under him, he fought breathing until his pulse was pounding in his ears and his lungs were screaming in pain. Unable to contain himself any longer, he parted slimed lips and drew in a deep breath, then instantly regretted it.

Hacking and spitting, eyes watering and nostrils burning from the absolutely revolting odor, Smith staggered toward shore but he didn't get far.

Hunching over, he dry heaved until the distant murmur of laughter penetrated his fogged brain. "You're a SMITH!" he heard his now deceased Aunt Maude berating him as she had during his weaker moments, which truth to tell, was something he heard far too often. "Now act like one!"

"Right!" he thought, as he began to slog through the mushy stew toward the wharf pylons. Nevertheless, his overabundant pride, false or otherwise, prompted him to bite the bullet. He reigned in his surging stomach with a concerted effort and stiffened his spine.

Like a character in a comedy movie, he waded toward land with a few unexpected slips thrown in for a change of pace.

The irksome stowaway looked like he'd just gone swimming in a cesspool and despite the distance he smelled even worse. It was like every foul smelling bit of flotsam had attached itself to the poor man's hide and the wind was carrying the noxious smell their way.

Though he reeked as badly as Smith did, Don couldn't help but bellow out his laughter. "What goes around, comes around, 'eh Smith?"

"Bah!" Smith predictably bellowed back. The truth was he was too reluctant to say anything else for fear that more slime would work its way into his mouth as he was talking.

Amidst alien guffaws that sounded all too human, the doctor finally dragged his sorry carcass to shore. The guards made may have intended to help him out, but after one or two whiff of pungent Smith, they quickly changed their minds. Waving hands before prominent snouts, the creatures did little more than gesture where they wanted the repugnant humans to go.

Don and Smith were shoved from behind by the blunt end of a pike, pushed to the fore of the group simply because that put them downwind of the others.

In moments, they were walking past a cluster of buildings not too far from the wharf, though upon closer inspection most of the dilapidated structures were abandoned. John suspected their rundown condition had less to do with their past usefulness, and more to do with the odor of the wharf, which, while fading, was still pretty bad.

A few passersby in the outskirts of the town showed bared fangs in a display of humor, but quickly parted when the odious duo got within scenting range, which for this species of alien, was pretty far off.

The farther from the wharf they got, the more abundant and prosperous looking the buildings appeared.

The motley gang of humans and aliens finally reached what appeared to be a small town square, complete with a market area, stalls with other assorted goods such as head coverings, simple jewelry, and clothing for the females. There was also a raised platform in another end of the square and Maureen clutched Judy's hand when she saw it. She'd see that kind of structure often enough in pictures and the occasional movie to know the platform was a slave block of some kind. Raised poles stretched skyward and chains dangled from rings attached to the posts. She prayed that was not going to be their fate. Forget the horror of being displayed like a slab of meat, she feared separation from her family even more. Praying silently that this was not to be their fate anytime soon, she tried to edge closer to her husband.

The guards, however, had different ideas and raised pikes to warn her back.

At the forefront of the group, Don was throwing one pointed verbal jab after another at Smith who, not to be outdone, was more than willing to return the favor.

Growling warnings, their captors tried to shut them up but they were too wrapped up in their heated sparring to hear anything. Finally, the slaves, John and the rest of the Robinson family were shuttled off toward the Northernmost part of the square, while two armed aliens diverted the combatants in another direction.

While Don was angry enough to skin Smith alive if he'd had the knife to do it, he wasn't so ticked off that he didn't notice the course change. They were heading toward a narrow empty side street. They hadn't gone down into the shaded alley more than 20 feet, when he stopped abruptly. He got a mighty jab in the kidney for his efforts.

"OW!" he yelled without restraint. "Cut it out!" It didn't matter what he said. They couldn't understand him and he knew it. But the tone of his voice wasn't lost on them.

Outraged at the brazenness of the prisoner, the guard, with crest bristling wildly, spun the pike sideways and used it like a baseball bat to bean the Jupiter 2's pilot. Don saw it coming and ducked, dropping to his side and kicking out the guards legs from under him.

"That was an idiotic thing to do!" Smith howled a warning. Deep down, he admired West's courage, not that he'd ever admit as much. Yes, he felt Don deserved a thorough thrashing after the way West had just gotten done teasing him. Nevertheless, the pea-brained, hyena-faced monstrosities could just as easily kill Don as humor him. The prospect of them slaughtering the Major did not sit well with Smith. Who would he argue with, or taunt, or insult? The others were far too nice for him to want to really wound them. But Don? Well, he was a different matter entirely. Their verbal battles provided some spice to his dreary existence, helped to alleviate the boredom, or to keep him mentally on his toes. And though he was loathe to admit it, he had grown to respect the man.

Below him, the Major rolled back to his knees and with a wonderfully athletic maneuver, jumped right to his feet. In a blur of motion, Don tried to fake right, and as the alien shifted that way, he whirled left. The old football maneuver worked quite well. He was in the clear. The truth was Don knew someone would stop him as he made a break for it but he was going to take his chances just the same.

"SMITH! RUN!" he shouted as he took off, not bothering to see if the doctor was obeying. There were only two possibilities that would come to fruition. Smith would either bolt as ordered, since that was his natural reaction anyway, or he would cower and promptly pass out from sheer terror. Devious old Doctor Smith was bound to find his way out of trouble if he made a break for it, he always did. And even if he fainted, they were bound to leave him alone. For that reason, while setting his sights on a narrow alley just ahead, Don didn't bother to see what was transpiring behind him.

What he didn't see was a pike's blunt end pivoting around so that the razor sharp edge was angling toward Don's unprotected back. The creatures muzzle twisted back in a grim snarl of triumph. He could hit the center of a target from 50 paces back, and his paces were far wider than that of the humans. Zigzagging or not, the human would go down. Subordinate though he was, he had grown weary of being forced to tolerate these strange creatures. It would be an easy matter to explain that the human had attacked him and he'd simply killed the foul thing in self defense.

Tensing his long lanky muscles, the creature drew his arm back. In one fluid motion he arched his hairy back and uncoiled his whole body to force the spear toward its ultimate destination.

Suddenly he felt the solid, heavy weight of something jolt him, then the buildings appeared to topple sideways and the air whooshed loudly from all four lungs. He saw bursts of light flicker before his eyes as his face crashed onto the hard packed earth.

At that moment, he realized he'd made a crucial error. He'd forgotten the other alien, the one he'd assumed to be too cowardly to attack an insect, let alone a being far taller than himself. Snarling in rage, he struggled back to his wobbly legs and whirled to face his attacker. But there was no one there. The human he thought had attacked him was lying in the dirt, in the same general area he'd been before the trouble had started. And he was out cold. The alien grunted and kicked Smith in the backside. The body moved from the blow but otherwise didn't stir.

Grunting louder, he hurriedly glanced around him. Clearly this foul smelling, perpetually fearful human hadn't taken him on. So who had? A few of the townsfolk passed down the main street but other than that, no one was nearby. Worse still, the other nearly hairless creature had disappeared. Undecided whether to stick with the one prisoner he still had, or go after the escapee, he grew rigid and immobile. Either way he'd lose, and he knew it.

Anger rumbling deep within his long chest, he grabbed the stinking human by the collar of his frayed T-shirt and shook him violently. It was bad enough that he would be chastised for his stupidity. There was no way that he was going to drag the human to his final destination and waste all that energy in the process.

Smith struggled in the creature's insistent grasp, as he was hauled forward, half upright, and about ready to pitch over. The thought passed fleetingly through his mind that he should fight against the indignity of it all, but then again, there were a few potential witnesses moving around and it certainly wasn't in his best interest to blow the image he had labored so hard to create.

It wasn't long before the hirsute beast was shoving him through a narrow door into a small room. It smelled musty, and the walls were dark and stained. A long hose was suspended from the ceiling, clamped tightly shut by a crude metal clip.

For the first time since the fateful voyage on this benighted world began, all thoughts of escape blew out like a candle in a storm. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the hose was for and in his present condition, he didn't care how he got clean, just as long as the blessed event took place in the immediate future.

The creature waved an errant finger at Smith's clothes and pointed to a corner.

Eyeing him warily, Smith took off the T-shirt and hurled it away in disgust. "Bon Voyage and good riddance!" he muttered as the dingy cloth landed with a wet squishy plop. Getting the pants off was another matter. They stuck to his skin for one thing, and essentially had to be peeled off. He finally reached for his underwear and paused.

Though he wasn't quite sure why, he was loathe to completely undress in front of the creature. It wasn't so much the nudity that bothered him. Prudishness had it's place, particularly in front of women like the Robinson females, but the thought that his different overall appearance would draw alien stares bothered him for reasons he couldn't readily explain.

That hesitation cost him. The creature, long used to being almost completely unclad, had no such reservations, and certainly had no care about what was going on the doctor's mind. In frustration, with a move almost too quick for the eye to see, he unfurled one long claw, and sliced right through Smith's underwear like it was butter. Smith howled as a burning line flowed down his hip. Immediately his eyes riveted on the thin crimson line with growing red beads that harshly marred the lily white skin.

In the time it took for Smith to register the shock of that violation, the creature had unclamped the hose and showered the doctor with a surprisingly strong stream of sun warmed water.

Smith turned angry eyes on the beast, who curled back dark lips, to reveal his considerable canines. To show who was boss, the hairy monster flicked the hose upward, blasting Smith in the face with the water.

Sputtering, Smith backed up, and raised his hands in surrender. Getting clean was more important than assuaging his wounded dignity. His time would come…

Quickly, the doctor used his hands and blunt nails to scrape every trace of filth from his body. To tell the truth, it felt wonderful to be so clean after such a long time of wallowing in the dirt of the jungle, the sweat and salt water of the ocean, and the cesspool at the dock.

All too soon, the bliss ended. Reclamping the hose, the guard glanced around the room and grunted. Leaving a naked dripping Smith standing in the center of the room, he strode to the door, peered out and made a 'come hither' gesture. "I need a – " the creature muttered in a low guttural voice, then used a word the translator loosely called 'covering'. "Bring it immediately or you will pay for your lack of speed!"

The poor soul must have gone off at a run, because Smith heard the rapid patter of bare feet on hard ground growing fainter until they disappeared entirely.

For a few minutes, Smith and his captor became involved in staring contest. To his chagrin, the creature did indeed show a distressing interest in the differences between his species and humans. He circled Smith several times, with agonizing slowness.

Smith had to fight the urge to cover himself up with his hands. Instead he met the creature's brightly glittering eyes, and smirking lips with a tight grin. Parting the waves of embarrassment with a determined stare of his own, he waited patiently for the 'covering' to appear.

It didn't take long. The hasty patter of feet returned. Instead of simply taking whatever garment was arriving, the guard stepped back from the brightly lit doorway and gestured inside.

A split second later, one of the female aliens stepped inside, cowering before the tall bulk of the male as she tried to slide past him without making contact. She turned and without thought, stuck a incredibly long, ribbon thin arm in his direction.

As the covering hung suspended from between her elongated fingers, a mutual look of shock raced across both faces. In hers, because she was staring at a naked, ugly, sparsely furred being with eyes the color of a fraltorn flower. And in his, because he realized, with horror, that the item of clothing she was offering him was nothing more than the equivalent of a thong.

The shock wore off instantly as he also realized that he was standing there, in all his 'glory', before a female. He felt a rush of blood setting his face afire, and he was glad that no one aside from the aliens were there to see it.

This time, both hands flew into a strategically protective position, and he backed up to the wall, not caring if he crashed into it or not. He made a backward beeline toward the pile of stinking, filthy clothing.

"Oh woe," he moaned, rolling his eyes in consternation, "the indignity of it all. Forced to choose between humiliation or a stink so foul I can't see straight." As his back brushed the cool wall, he tried to reach down to pick up his pants without removing his hands from their guarding position. It was a losing battle and he knew it.

The female was already beginning to twitter in a high pitched ululating chuckle. She bared white pointed teeth. "What is wrong with this thing?" she asked the guard.

"I have no idea. We found a group of these disgusting creatures wandering in the woods. Blalock thought they might have some value once we get to Petria Port. Personally I think they are more trouble than they are worth."

By that point, Smith managed to get ready to step into his filth-laden pants. In a move, almost too fast to see, the guard stepped around the female, and ripped the offensive clothing out of the doctor's grasp and hurled it outside. With one multijointed finger he gestured toward the thong, and gave Smith a look that clearly indicated he would enjoy beating the doctor to a pulp if he didn't comply.

Moaning piteously, he slipped on the tiny garment, while the female kept up that insane twittering. Mercifully, the guard ordered her to leave, but she only complied after giving one final and full throated laugh.

Once the joke had worn itself out, the guard gestured toward the door. When Smith didn't move, he thrust out those nasty razor sharp nails, and started toward the doctor. At first Smith remained frozen. Then, opening his eyes wide in a look of pure unadulterated fear, he shrieked as if he expected to die any minute, and dodged those weapons before they made contact with his skin.

Seeing that the necessary fear-factor had been achieved, the guard sheathed his claws, and made another hasty grab but Smith, still looking terrified, tried to bolt away again. Then he slipped on the still wet floor. Struggling to regain his balance, he managed to right himself only temporarily. He took another step, arms akimbo, before his feet flew out from under him again.

Grunting in disgust at how clumsy this pink skinned alien was, he made a move to put a stop to the shenanigans. He took one step closer, and suddenly the flat sole of a bare, pink-toed hairless foot slammed right into his nose. Lightening sizzled before his eyes, and then there was total darkness, as he crumpled into a heap onto the wet floor.

Miraculously recovered from his pratfall, Smith strode confidently over to the limp body of the guard, eyeing it with disgust. "You deserved worse, you inept hairball, " he muttered, fighting back the urge to give the beast a parting shot in the ribs for all the abuse he'd been forced to endure.

Instead, he sidled over to the door and cautiously peered out to survey the area. Aside from a few of the dark furred bodies near a distance corner, the coast was clear.

Glancing at the position of the sun, and trying to mentally retrace his way through the town, Smith finally bolted through the door at a dead run. His ruined clothes forgotten in the joy of freedom, he raced around a corner, nearly scared a few females to death, and before they could set up an alarm, he was already around another corner. Moving at a speed startling for a man his age, he retraced his steps back to the point where he'd last seen Major West.

Behind him, he heard a female shrieking a warning. Time was growing short, and in a heartbeat he was dashing toward the dense shrubs and trees at the edge of village. He crashed through the nearest brush, getting sliced by briars, and sharp sticks but adrenaline kept him oblivious to the discomfort. He tripped over a log that he didn't quite successfully hurdle, and crashed into the leaves with a loud whoosh of expelled air.

Growling at his own ineptitude, he hastily regained his feet, and plunged farther into the thick overgrowth, trying to put as much distance from himself and the town as possible.

Springy ferns whipped painfully across exposed skin, and thorns drew long red lines through delicate tissue but he paid them no heed. No one was around to whine to, and that took all the fun out of complaining. Instead, he plowed farther into the dense foliage, pulling ragged breaths deep into straining lungs, as he left any threat of pursuit behind.

Finally, when his pulse rate reached uncomfortable levels, he slowed down, leaned against the golden bole of a willow like tree. It provided some shade and enough coverage for him to hide while catching his breath and collecting his thoughts.